


Beneath the Hollow

by elanurel



Series: Strange Angels [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Drama, F/M, Horror, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanurel/pseuds/elanurel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The night Mary died, John Winchester vowed that the Circle of Enoch wouldn't lay a finger on Sam — and he's spent the last twenty-three years building a group of Hunters who will defy the Circle at every turn.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Sympathy for the Devil

It was a ragged cry, torn from the throat of his son by touch - Azazeal's hand curled on Alex's chest, smoke rising from where their skin connected.  The hand sunk within the flesh and squeezed.

"There is always a price for betrayal," the Grigori whispered in his daughter's voice, lips brushing the ear so like her own.  "And you have failed us, boy."

Richard Masters closed his eyes, listening to it speak.  He should have been used to it; Meg carried Azazeal's children within her often enough before she died - the only sign that she wasn't entirely his daughter was the color of her eyes, black as night.  This was worse.  When the Grigori was pleased, he could almost convince himself that it was his daughter returned to him; the way it moved, the way it wore her body as though it were its own from the day she was born.  Even the way it laughed, deep from the belly.  But when Azazeal was enraged, his daughter's body could barely contain its power; its fire always flickering around it, a cold reminder of the sides that were chosen - the lines that were drawn.

The Masters family had learned a long time ago that there was no purchase in believing the promises passed down through the Circle, understood the lie of the sacred trust.  Only the old man believed, tried to tell Richard when he sat on his knee barely old enough to walk that honor and duty were everything - that devotion marked by love was the cornerstone of the world.  That old man never realized the power of hatred and despair made manifest in the hearts of men.

There was no hope of love's triumph.

The old man believed in the lie.  The lie told to the first of the Nephilim, centuries of mindless servitude all based on the belief that a Blessed Child's duty was to protect the world with gifts endowed by God; to protect the world from the Destroyer's Ascension.

No one ever told them how many would die to maintain that lie.  No one remembered the scores of names and surrendered lives because no one took the time to remind themselves of their past.  But Richard Masters could name them all, the Blessed Children who believed they were God's warriors - and every single one of them a needless sacrifice to the broken cause.  Every name another line on the testament to the lie.

Even the prophecy believed their cause to be fact - the Rising of the Twelve, the precursor to Shemhezai's dominion.  That little ragtag army of John Winchester's had no idea what they were really up against - fighting their little war for the memories of mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, burned as examples in Azazeal's fire.  Mary Winchester had been the first, for defying the Council's wishes and marrying outside of the Circle, and Aaron Webb had been the last - for daring to Break it.

Webb's punishment should have been the end of it, but John Winchester was a stubborn man - and he raised his damnable sons to be just like him.  Even the memory of Mary's face as she burned on the ceiling, her silent scream as Winchester bellowed his loss to the fire, was not enough to curb Richard's rage at being reduced to a puppet - watching his own son burn, bound backwards hand to feet over a stool the Grigori designed for the punishment, because of John Winchester's sons and the blood of a redheaded Betrayer.

Azazeal would leave no scars, but Alex would carry the memory of that burn until the Rising.

Alex screamed again, shuddering as Azazeal removed its hand from his chest with a moist pop.  Several Councilors looked away at the noise, but Richard memorized his son's prone form, shivering against the chair as though the air itself was burning around him.  He would hold remembrance for it next to his daughter's body in the morgue, broken and dead and her spark gone forever.

It should have been John Winchester's oldest son tied to that chair and Aaron Webb's jezebel of a daughter laying lifeless on a slab.

Not the heirs to the Circle of Enoch.

"What is your task?" Azazeal asked in Meg's sibilant whisper, kneeling beside his son with her hand upon Alex's throat.  Nails ready to rip if Alex gave the wrong answer.  His son sobbed, broken, and Richard knew he would kill as much of that feeble little militia he could find simply in recompense for that sound.  "Answer me," the Grigori demanded, blood pooling in half moons where its fingers touched flesh.

"To - "  Alex swallowed, voice so raspy it was unrecognizable.  "To retrieve Sam Winchester."

"And what will you do to anyone who stands in your way?" Azazeal continued, fire still flickering across his daughter's cheekbones as her nostrils flared.

His son moaned, throat working, but he raised his head weakly.  "Kill them," Alex whispered.

The Grigori's yellow eyes glared at the Council table, and then smiled at Richard.  His daughter's smile, bound within a demon's visage.  "And what is _your_ task?" it asked.  Cold fingers still pressed into his son's throat, but Richard could say nothing.  His only task was to serve.  And Azazeal knew that he would sacrifice his son's life if that is what was required.

He would sacrifice his _own_ life.

Shemhezai promised an end - and from every ending, came a new beginning.


	2. The Shapes Between Us Turn Into Animals

Being a Winchester meant that you learned to read between the lines.

It was the hazard of growing up one of John Winchester's sons. The man conveyed more by what he didn't say – with a look, or the tone of his voice, or the set of his shoulders when he heard something he didn't like – than through any of the words coming out of his mouth. Sam guessed part of that was being a Marine, using hand signals and body language to get your point across while you were marching through enemy territory and trying not to get killed.

And John Winchester was always marching through enemy territory, from the moment he left Lawrence. Hell, probably even before that – if some of the stories Missouri had told him over the last couple of days had been true. Dad spent months trying to come to terms with how to keep his family safe, and his solution was to raise his sons to be warriors while telling them just enough to hide what they really needed to know. They knew about monsters – Sam had his .45 since he was nine – and they knew they had to take them out.

They just didn't realize that Sam would become the biggest monster of them all.

Sam's throat ached, remembering the way his father brushed him off. _Been getting Dean's messages. I know what's going on, son._ That hurt more than he thought it would; that John Winchester had decided to let his sons flounder around figuring out how to deal with the demon in Sam's belly. There was a recrimination in the silence, a betrayal for discovering the secret before John Winchester was willing to tell it.

Dean didn't know what was going on; Sam was just as adept at skirting around the truth of something; just as much a Winchester when it came to giving answers that obscured what you really meant. Dean might have been able to tell Dad the particulars – about the Circle and the succubus, a clumsy girl named Charlotte, the demon in Sam's belly trying to destroy the world, and Dean's first task. But Dean could never tell Dad about getting hollowed out a little more every day, how it felt to have your insides whittled away until there was nowhere left inside to hide.

At least Sam hoped like hell Dean hadn't picked up on what _that_ felt like.

Sam wasn't even sure why he tried to warn his father. Dean was the one driving the car while Sam sat in the back seat, a demon swirling through his hip bones. Ellie was curled up and sleeping on his lap, snuggling in closer whenever Sam shifted to look out the window and Charlotte kept trying to find a radio station she and Dean could both listen to without running commentaries. If Shemhezai was going to blow, those three were sitting in the line of fire.

This jaunt to Nebraska was more than just a road trip.

Dad's message regarding their trip was loud and clear – _I want you boys to get here before the Roadhouse opens; we need some time to talk before there's a crowd_. Sam wondered why his father just didn't come right out and say that he was setting up some kind of test to figure out whether or not Ellie was a threat, to determine where Charlotte's loyalties lay; especially when Dad followed it up by saying how safe they would be at the roadhouse. And Sam had some suspicions about what his father was capable of that he knew Dean wasn't ready to hear.

Dad was good, a master of persuasion when he needed to be – using his voice to soothe like he had done when Sam was a child. His father forgot that Sam would recognize the tactic. A Winchester never came out and said what a Winchester meant because then you'd have to deal with something real. And Winchesters had more important things to do – their mission, saving people, finding the thing that pinned people to the ceiling – than to try and understand each other.

So Sam pulled a page out of the book of Charlotte Webb and just said it. _I'm the one you should be worried about now; one day, I'm going to wake up and it won't be the demon in my belly. It'll be the other way around._ And Dad had just ignored it like it had never been said. The words between them swallowed whole by those empty spaces that said what his father really meant. _I didn't raise you to be a monster._

His father's stubborn belief wasn't keeping it from happening.

Sam couldn't even keep the thing quiet since they crossed the state line into Nebraska. Its voice was singing inside – in that dissonant language that Sam didn't understand – bringing with it images of Shemhezai's twisted Paradise. Still photographs of the world's breaking that Sam tried to block by singing to Ellie while she fell asleep; but those pictures were still there, almost a shimmer behind his eyelids, and the creature was gibbering in his head. Sam wished he had a hammer just to shut the damn thing up.

Dean's snort was loud enough to rival the demon's sibilant song, and Sam grabbed onto it like a lifeline. "What are you doing to my car, Charlie?" Dean was demanding, cocking his head with that grimace that he usually directed towards Sam.

"This is Robyn Hitchcock, Dean." Charlotte returned his grimace with a smile. "Robyn _Hitchcock_," she added as if that meant something, eyes going wide as she turned up the volume. "On the _radio_!" She started singing softly along with the song.

_Her hair are like anenomes  
That wave beneath the seas  
Her fingers are the fingers of  
Baboons up in the trees_

It said something about whatever was going on between the two of them that Dean kept his mouth shut for about thirty seconds before bellowing, "Oh, hell no!" He patted the dashboard. "I'm sorry, baby," he managed before giving Charlotte a sidelong glance and popping the cassette back into the stereo. "I'll make the bad noise stop," he added as Led Zeppelin began blasting through the car.

"Bad noise?" And there was a hitch to Charlotte's voice.

"That dude sings almost as bad as you do, and whatever the hell he's talking about, it made no freaking sense." Dean snorted again. "Her fingers are the fingers of _baboons_ up in the trees? What the fuck does that mean?"

"Robyn's a genius," she returned almost immediately.

"Robyn's a lunatic," Dean replied. He turned up the volume just like he would have if he'd been having the same conversation with Sam. "For a smart girl, you sure have some weird ideas about what makes kick-ass lyrics."

"_Whole Lotta Love_?" It was Charlotte's turn to snort. "I want to be your backdoor man?" She folded her arms across her chest. "You're comparing Robyn Hitchcock's lyrics to a song about screwing some girl up the a – "

Dean suddenly reached out and dragged Charlotte across the front seat and she curled her legs beside her, leaning against his brother like they'd been doing it for years. His shoulders were shaking as he laughed and put his arm around her. "Once we get settled tonight," Dean said, "You and I are going to find someplace where I can give you some private lessons on _Dean Winchester's Rules of the Road_."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think you need private lessons for that crap about '_Driver picks the music_,' Dean."

"There are certain points I need to drive home, Sam." Dean was grinning up at him in the rear-view mirror. "And Charlie's so good with her mouth that I'm going to make her give me a blow-by – "

"Dean!" Charlotte yelped, poking Dean in the stomach. Sam didn't even need to see her face to know that she was blushing.

"It's hard enough driving without some scrawny chick poking me in the gut with her bony finger," Dean retorted. "Besides, I think Geek Boy's already figured out that we're scre – " Charlotte poked him again and the car actually swerved. "You want to drive while I'm poking you?" he added.

"I'll make you listen to _every_ Robyn Hitchcock song I own." Dean looked down at her, and Sam could see the ghost of a smile cross his older brother's face. "But there is the added bonus of shotgun shutting his cakehole," Charlotte added. She couldn't get the whole thing out before she started laughing.

"You're too goddamn smart for your own good, Girl Genius." Dean was laughing, too. "You just keep on talking – I've already got remedial lessons planned that'll keep you up until daybreak."

Sam grinned, feeling the ache in his throat when she tilted her head up to look at Dean. It was easier to smile – to be happy for both of them; it was better than sitting there remembering Jess. The memory of a feeling, distilled to that moment of wonder when the relationship was new. When he and Jess had barely realized that they had a future together – and it was a future where nothing could hurt them. No ghosts, no monsters. Sam had kept her safe from that, had maintained her innocence despite the truth. _A normal, apple-pie life._

When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. Smell her. The char of her flesh as she stared down at him, belly sliced open as her blood dripped slowly onto his forehead. But it was her face he would always remember, the mouth that kissed him in so many places open in that silent scream. And the way she reached for him in the end – holding out one hand like touching it could save her. His brain just shorted out, and all Sam could do was scream. So many people saved by a Winchester, but not the ones who mattered to them the most. Sam remembered that scream, Dean barreling into the room and dragging him out.

When he was lying in a bed by himself with nothing but the memories of Jessica to get him through the night – the way her hair smelled after a show, the way her toes would curl when he was deep inside – Sam wished Dean had never come back for him. It was bad enough knowing that the thing inside of him wanted out, wanted to break the world like it was an egg but it was hard as all hell to know all that without her. Jessica Moore was the only thing that had kept him from crashing and burning; he was losing bits of himself every day as surely as he already lost her.

And every day, Shemhezai got a little bit stronger – more firmly rooted in his rib cage, its song louder than it ever was back in Wisconsin. Back before Sam knew about the prophecy, before he knew the difference between visions and nightmares. When the job was taking out the demon that killed Mom. Before Sam knew the biggest demon of all slithered inside him, waiting to take the world back.

It didn't help when Dean said something underneath the music that Sam couldn't hear and Charlotte gave a little laugh, saying something softly back that made Dean pull her closer. Sam felt like an intruder in the car he grew up in, and that goddamn monster in his belly was laughing so loudly it rattled through Sam's hipbones.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam opened his eyes. Dean was actually looking over his shoulder at him, slowing down the car a little. Hazel eyes looking almost the exact same way that they did the night Jess died. Sam's mouth twisted up to the right, and he hoped like hell his eyes were showing the smile. "Yeah," he returned. "Just tired."

He saw Dean's face stiffen, the little clench around the jaw that only happened when his brother was annoyed, but Dean shrugged his shoulders and put his eyes back on the road.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


Sam was wound up tighter than a corkscrew, staring out the back window like he was trying to figure out how to disappear. Dean guessed it had something to do with his conversation with Dad – and who the hell knew what the two had decided to fight about this time. Much as he missed his Dad, he never missed those fights. Stepping in and pushing the two apart from each other before they hauled off and belted each other wasn't a red-letter way to end a hunt.

Sam was definitely hiding something. He was too damn quiet – a couple of smart-ass observations in a couple of hours wasn't Sam's speed. If Dean didn't know better, he'd have said that Sam had the Stanford look in his eyes; the same expression his little brother wore for months before getting up the nerve to tell Dad that he was going to college. It was the look Sam got in his eyes when he was getting ready to leave – and Dean had sworn that the next time he saw it, he'd say _something_.

But he figured Sam wouldn't open up until it was just the two of them, so Dean kept his mouth shut while Charlie sleepily butchered most of the first side of _Houses of the Holy_ – sliding further down his side until she ended up with her cheek on his thigh. He turned down the radio when he heard her funny little snore.

Sam chuckled. "She even snores off-key."

"Don't make me stop the car and kick your ass. Charlie's asleep, for Christ's sake." But Dean was chuckling himself. "It's not fun unless she can fight back," he added. Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror. "So, is there something outside chasing us that I should know about, or are you just digging Nebraska?"

Sam started guiltily. "It's nothing, Dean."

"Bullshit!"

"Jesus, Dean. You want to wake up Ellie?" Sam gave a half-shake to his head as the little girl shifted in her sleep; probably at the sound of her name, since she slept through a hell of a lot of music. "Last time I checked, I didn't see you slipping her a Ding Dong this morning," Sam added slyly. "And I know for a fact that you're all of out loose change."

"_Resident Evil_ never gets old," Dean replied. "You're just jealous because I always kick your ass in video games. And don't change the subject. Something's up, Geek Boy. I can feel it."

Sam laughed at that. "Because you're a freaking empath."

Dean grinned at him over his shoulder. "Because you're my freaking brother." He sighed. Sam had been fine until lunch – had even eaten some beef jerky to tide him over. _Might as well get this over with._ "You and Dad OK?"

"Yeah." Sam snorted. "As OK as Dad and I ever are. Tried to catch him up on what's going on, and he said we'd talk once we got there." He shifted in his seat, and he frowned.

"So what's the problem, Sammy?" Sam's mouth tightened in the rearview mirror when he said it, and Dean knew there was a lot more to that conversation that Sam wasn't saying. It didn't matter – Dean would figure it out soon enough, but sometimes it helped knowing when he'd have to step in before one of them threw a punch.

"Are you so sure this is a good idea, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "I'm not sure that anything I've been doing since that girl gave you a glowing sword is a good idea. What's one more thing on the list?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, all we're doing is checking the place out and Dad's there. It's not like he's going to let anything happen to us."

"To _us_," Sam returned.

Dean's eyes narrowed. _Fuck me…_ Sam thought that something was up with Dad and that roadhouse – until a realization hit that made his stomach clench. "Did you get a vision about what's going to happen?" he asked slowly. "I'm serious. If there's something you're not telling me, I need to know."

"No." Sam scratched his chest. "Even if we can trust Dad, how do we know we can trust the rest of them?"

"Son of a bitch! _If_ we can trust Dad?" Dean was glad he was driving, because he knew that he'd be seeing his father with Azazeal inside taunting him while he bled – which didn't change the fact that Dad had been its victim, too. Sam just wasn't willing to see past the chip on his shoulder. "You think _Dad's_ going to double-cross us?"

"Are you willing to bank Ellie's safety on the fact that everyone there isn't some trigger-happy idiot?" Sam returned hotly. And Dean knew he was going to go there when Sam's jaw clenched. "What about Charlotte? We're bringing a girl who was _raised_ by the Circle of Enoch with us." Sam drew the words out slowly. "Bet there are assholes in that roadhouse who think she's fair game."

Dean snapped his head quickly, trying to ignore every different way he could imagine Charlie falling backwards with a belly full of bullets. He swallowed. "I won't let that happen, Sam. Not to either one of them."

"Look, Dean. All I'm really getting at is that we need to be careful."

"That's easier said than done when we're bringing a six-year-old kid and a chick with her leg in a cast along for the ride," Dean pointed out. _Crap._

"It's a little late to be worrying about that now." Sam snorted. "Besides, Winchesters do better when our backs are against the wall. Isn't that what Dad always used to tell us?" He sighed. "The only way to know if Ellie's going to be okay there is to see for ourselves how they treat her. But I'm worried that we're going to get caught in the middle of Dad's crusade. That's not our task."

Dean grinned. "Pretty soon you'll be throwing out all those fancy words like '_faith_' and '_destiny_.' Charlie is a bad influence on you."

"Were you even _listening_ to Dad when he told us what a prophecy was?" Sam snapped, but there was a smile on his face when he said it. "We've got more important things to do, and I have the feeling that Dad's already got ten different ideas about what we'll be doing for him."

"Cut Dad some slack, Sam. You know what's at stake!"

Sam's eyes flashed at him. "I know exactly what's at stake, Dean! I'm the one who's going to – " And then he shut his mouth abruptly, getting that same stubborn look in his eye that Dad did whenever they were both unwilling to talk. He'd given them that same look often enough to know what it meant.

"Going to what?" Dean asked. His little brother wasn't saying anything, just staring out the window with darkened eyes. Dean swallowed, wishing his throat didn't hurt so goddamn much.

"You don't know anything about what's going on with me, Dean. You can't even _begin_ to know." Sam's voice was low, and his shoulders were trembling – and Dean almost thought Sam might open up but the wall slammed down even harder when their eyes met in the rearview mirror and Sam was staring out the window again.

"I probably don't want to know," Dean said softly, eyes focused on the road. "But you know you're not alone, don't you?" Sam's eyes were burning holes in the back of Dean's head, and there was a sneer on his brother's face – for just a second – that Dean must have imagined because when he glanced at him in the rearview mirror, Sam just looked tired. "Sammy?"

"I know that," his little brother replied. "I'm never alone." And Sam gave a laugh that almost sounded like a hiccup.

"Sammy…"

"Just let it go, Dean." And Dean opened his mouth to say something back, but Sam was grinning at him suddenly. "Or I'll start telling Charlotte all the really embarrassing stories. Like the time you got drunk and tried writing out all the lyrics to _You Shook Me All Night Long_ in front of that chick's house."

"That was something worthy of a chick flick!"

"Oh, yeah, because nothing says class like peeing song lyrics in the snow."

"Like serenading Suzie Parker with that retarded kissing song from the mermaid movie makes you a real ladies' man, Geek Boy."

Sam snorted. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied, leaning down to turn the music up and gunning the engine.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


The only thing Dean blasted louder than Led Zeppelin was Metallica – so it didn't surprise Sam when Dean popped in another cassette and turned up the stereo right before the opening strains of "Enter Sandman" started bouncing through the car. And although Dean was smiling, rolling down the window as rain-swept air burst into the Impala, Sam knew what the music was really saying. _It calms me down._

Dean was just as worried as Sam, occasionally glancing back at Ellie in the rear-view mirror or looking down where Sam guessed Charlotte was sleeping – sometimes reaching down with one hand to touch her when Dean thought Sam was too busy looking out the window. When he wasn't doing either, Dean was humming deep in his throat, knuckles white as his hands curled around the steering wheel; and it seemed like the prairie was getting ready to swallow them whole the closer they got to _Harvelle's Roadhouse_.

Sam wondered if Charlotte could sense it while she was sleeping, if she was dreaming about what to expect – or if she would find a sign in the clouds or from the smell in the air when she woke up. His head jerked forward, and Sam pressed his shoulders against the backseat to straighten them out; he was starting to get cramped, trying not to move so he wouldn't wake up Ellie. And his freaking eye was starting to blur, aching inside the socket. Like the nerve endings were still trying to join together, or they were coming undone by the same thing that was rattling the windows.

He closed his eyes, seeing spots in his left – it was more sensitive to light since it was ripped out of his skull by the _Cordi Peredo_ – and Sam was hoping that the throbbing would slow down if he wasn't using it so much. And try as he might, he still couldn't get past the way they all looked at him when they saw it. Dean looking guilty, Charlotte biting her lip and averting her eyes. Even Ellie told him to get an eye-patch for it – although then she followed it up with asking him to play Captain Jack for her, so he figured the little girl had an ulterior motive.

They still hadn't really talked about that night – just things in passing, like how lucky they were to have survived one of the Unforgiven Curses. Charlotte had tried, starting her apologies until the Winchester look in their eyes stopped her. And maybe apologies didn't matter – maybe they had moved beyond words because the memory of that night only seemed to make them closer. Sam was never going to tell Dean what Shemhezai had planned for him and Charlotte; they weren't going to get the happy ending – despite the wonder Sam could see every time they smiled at each other.

Shemhezai had plans for them all.

He sighed, and he felt Ellie shifting, a small hand landing on each cheek as gentle as dandelion fuzz alighting on his skin. She pressed a kiss on his forehead, just like Charlotte did when he was saying goodnight to her. _It's a blessing my daddy taught me_, Sam heard her tell Ellie when Charlotte was putting the little girl to bed, _so that the angels will always protect you_. Dean's eyes had gone wide at that, and he turned away from them both with a frown – but that hadn't kept his older brother from planting a kiss on Ellie's forehead when it was his turn to say goodnight.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Ellie said, her dark eyes shining when Sam cracked open his eyes.

She settled into his lap, and Sam's arms came automatically around her; chin resting on the top of her head as they both looked out the window. "Sammy?" he asked softly.

Ellie nodded. "That's what Dean calls you."

"Sammy was a chubby twelve-year-old, Ellie" Dean commented, smirking up at them both in the rearview mirror.

"Then it's not okay for me to call you Sammy?" she asked, her voice suddenly tiny as she lowered her head.

"It's absolutely okay," Sam replied – just as Shemhezai gave him a glimpse of his plans for Ellie Jenkins; her shattered little body thrown against the white altar where they would be making their final stand. He trembled. They were all thrown against the white altar. In pieces. There was a head he thought might be Dean's, right next to a cardigan-covered arm.

He choked, feeling the bile collecting in his throat. Dean was already pulling the car over to the shoulder by the side of the road, and Sam pushed Ellie off his lap – she made a noise as she toppled against the seat, but Sam didn't stop to check on her. He slammed to the ground, throwing up the moment he opened the door, and a white light burst against the back of his eyes. The screech of metal against metal, as a girl with long brown hair and a face he could only describe as cherubic threw her arms around him with a wail. Blood on both their hands.

The scream was still echoing through Sam's head as he dry-heaved, a hand gently rubbing his back as he bent over. He looked up, squinting into the sun, to see Dean holding Ellie while they both watched him. Ellie was crying softly, and started struggling in Dean's arms. "Are you okay?" Charlotte asked, and she looked a little queasy herself when their eyes met.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam tried to stand, stumbled a little as he grabbed the car door to steady himself. "We'll talk about it later." His eyes focused on Ellie, hoping Dean would get the message.

"You don't look fine," Dean stated baldly. He'd seen the dance enough times to realize what had happened.

Ellie's voice was a wail. "Put me down!"

"No," Dean returned gently. "I know you're scared, Ellie, but Sam's going to be okay." When she looked at him, Dean smiled. "You said so yourself," he added and Ellie grinned suddenly, returning his smile and throwing her arms around his shoulders to hug him.

Sam snorted when Ellie kissed Dean on the cheek. "See, Ellie," Sam said, hoping she didn't realize he was still leaning against the Impala. "Good as new."

"But now that we're stopped, we might as well go over our game plan." Dean frowned when he said it, hazel eyes burning as he caught Sam's curt nod.

Sam nodded. "Some of the people where we're going might be scared of us, Ellie."

"Then why are we going?" Ellie demanded.

"Because our daddy is there," Dean replied, "And we think it's the best place to keep you safe. But some people might be scared of what we can do, so we just need to show them that they don't have to be afraid." And his smile was bright enough that even Sam found himself grinning back. "Do you think you can do that, Ellie?"

Ellie nodded. "But how?"

"I've been thinking about that." Dean finally set Ellie down on the ground, and she immediately ran to Sam. "It'll be a little like a surprise party. Sam and I will go in first, see if we can find people waiting to surprise us."

"I can probably help with that," Charlotte said. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach.

Dean shook his head. "You're going to stay with Ellie. Can you help her play hide and seek?"

"No." Charlotte frowned.

"I'm not so sure it's a good idea to go in guns blazing, Dean," Sam added. "If there is a trigger happy yahoo waiting for his chance, we're just inviting trouble."

"Besides, I don't need Charlie to help me play hide and seek," Ellie returned, her fingers intertwined with Sam's. "I'm smaller than she is. She'll only give away where I'm hiding." She looked serious.

"You've got a point," Dean returned, a slight twist to the set of his mouth. "You too, Sam. We'll still go in first. All we need to do is act casual about it. Charlie and Ellie can stick together and follow us."

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pain shooting behind his eye. "Like we did back in Rockford?"

Dean snorted. "That was your fault. I was damn casual!"

"Dude, you went in singing Iron Butterfly."

"If Charlie sings, she can confuse them with baboon fingers." Dean grinned. "And goddamn anemones."

Ellie wrinkled her nose. "If Charlie sings, they'll _really_ be scared of us." Dean was already cackling but Charlotte looked so shocked that Sam tried not to laugh. He couldn't help himself, even though it made the muscles in his abdomen ache. Winchesters always laughed when it hurt.

"How come Ellie doesn't get stuck on your fiendishly clever revenge list?" Dean asked, wheezing, when Charlotte walked past him.

"She's six, Dean."

Dean just gave Ellie a sly glance, and the little girl nodded. "Bring it on, Cowgirl," Ellie yelped. Charlotte stopped in her tracks, staring at Dean over her shoulder, while Ellie made a face. "But how can you be a cowgirl without a horse?" the little girl asked.

"Lucky cowgirls get a wild stallion," Charlotte answered, ignoring the way Dean suddenly squared his shoulders and shot Sam a cocky grin. "Really lucky cowgirls get a bucking bronco." Dean's grin got wider the more Charlotte's cheeks flushed. "I got a little pony," she added.

"With a tiara?" Ellie asked, eyes brightening.

"A big pink one," Charlotte managed, finally making eye contact with Dean. She turned away so quickly, hair swirling around her shoulders, that she didn't see Dean's face change color right before he made a sharp choking noise.

"What's wrong with Dean?" Ellie asked, tugging on Sam's hand. Dean recovered quickly, chasing Charlotte around to the passenger's side of the car and grabbing the sleeve of her sweater to pull her towards him. Ellie rolled her eyes when they started kissing and then smiled up at Sam. "I still don't know how they breathe like that, Sammy."

Sam burst out laughing all over again.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


Dad wasn't kidding when he said that _Harvelle's Roadhouse_ was off the beaten path. They found the turn-off to the county road about fifteen miles outside of Valentine city limits. It was a dirt road that looked like it had seen a lot of travel if you looked hard enough but Sam suspected most people drove past in their haste to get to town.

The building itself was covered by what looked like small half-cut logs, and Dad's truck was parked near the right front window – along with a couple of motorcycles that looked like they had seen better days. As Dean pulled the Impala next to their father's truck, Sam spied a derelict car frame around the back of the bar. There were flickering beer lights in each of the front windows, barely visible in the dusk. Some smaller buildings, the size of small sheds, sat on the edges of the parking lot – lights flickering from behind their curtains.

Sam was tired, and he could still hear Shemhezai – its song a constant whisper beneath the pressure inside of his head, the throbbing in his left eye keeping the beat. "I thought this place was supposed to be consecrated," he said softly, leaning against the front seat.

Dean glanced back at him. "That's what Missouri said."

"Then how come – " Sam stopped himself when he felt the weight of Ellie's eyes on his face. The little girl was looking at him with the same frown as the redhead in the front seat.

"It's strong, Sam." Charlotte's voice was gentle, and she touched his arm, bare skin – and not once did she shudder from contact with the thing inside of him. "But so are you," she added, squeezing her hand.

"You're a fucking Winchester," Dean said. He grinned at Sam. "You ready to do this?"

Sam nodded, looking down at Charlotte's watch. "Just not ready for the lecture." Sam pitched his voice low. "You're ten minutes late, boys. I told you to be here by 7:30," he added.

"Crap." Charlotte bit her lip.

Dean snorted. "You worry too goddamn much." He leaned towards her. "Didn't I already tell you that it wouldn't be your fault if we're late?" But then Dean waggled his eyebrows at her. "Except you looked so cute back at the last rest stop that I had to – " Charlotte stared so sharply at Dean, he closed his mouth.

"Let's just get this over with," the redhead retorted. Charlotte cocked her head, and Dean's mouth twisted – he even took a breath like he was getting ready to say something else, his jaw clenching when their eyes met. "This isn't going to be pleasant," she said.

"What are you picking up?" Dean asked. He looked a little sick around the eyes.

"Anxiety, mostly – lots of nervous people are sitting in that room," Charlotte returned. "There's a couple of angry people in there – and someone…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "Someone is worried." She frowned. "And it's directed at the other people inside."

"So we might have an ally if things turn south." Dean's mouth twisted, and he opened the door. They all started pouring out of the car – Ellie scuttling around to where Charlotte was waiting for her, Dean's hand checking his back holster. Sam flexed both of his arms, feeling the pressure of his knife sheathes underneath his long sleeves, hoping like hell that whoever was waiting for them would realize they weren't stupid enough to go in without weapons.

Sam took a breath. _Where your feet touch the ground, he remembered Charlotte saying, sink yourself into the earth like roots from a tree_. For a girl who didn't know much about Wicca, she used a lot of natural imagery whenever they had their meditation lessons.

And it worked. The moment he pushed himself into the ground, the whispering song in his head stopped. It was the first time since leaving Missouri's that the thing was totally silent; even the throbbing behind his eye seemed to slow down, just the rush of blood through his veins instead of a furious pounding that sped up to match its tempo with Shemhezai's voice.

Dean was looking around them, inching closer to the front door, and he caught Sam's eye. When another terse nod signaled him, Sam joined Dean on the other side of the door – both of them straining to listen into the building. There was some muffled music playing inside and the low hum of voices. People talking to each other. Nothing seemed abnormal, and Sam thought they might actually get through the next five minutes without any problems despite Charlotte's observations.

Dean didn't look so optimistic, waving his hand at Charlotte to come forward with Ellie. He waited until they were right behind him before slowly turning the handle and opening the door. Sam didn't imagine the rough creak as the door opened, or the way the voices stopped the moment Dean stepped through the doorway and into the bar. Sam followed him, leaving enough room for Charlotte and Ellie to stand inside the doorway. Charlotte's arms were around Ellie's neck, holding the girl close.

"You boys are late," a low voice grumbled from the back of the room. Dad's head swiveled, and Sam watched as his father tilted his head back – slamming a shot of whatever he was drinking down his throat before he stood up from his chair, the same graceful un-slouching his brother used all the time. Dad glanced at the older woman behind the bar, her dusky blonde hair falling around her shoulders.

The room was peppered with other figures – a couple of survivalist wannabes sitting in the back corner, a lanky blonde girl wiping down tables like it was the last thing in the world she wanted to be doing. A tall woman standing near the jukebox, dressed all in leather. Some more men gathered around a table to the right, drinking beers and playing what looked like Texas Hold 'Em. And near every single one of them, Sam's eyes flickered against a weapon within hand's reach – usually a knife or a gun, but the woman near the jukebox had an honest-to-God quarterstaff. Dean's eyes were glancing in the same places, the skin tight around his mouth.

"Dean says that's – " Ellie began, but Charlotte leaned down and whispered something in Ellie's ear that made the little girl stop.

"Directions work?" their father asked casually, stepping away from his barstool. If Sam didn't know better, he'd have sworn his father was drunk the way he was swaying on his feet – but there was no way the man would drink too much around so many people with weapons, _especially_ if John Winchester was the one in charge.

"We found the place all right," Dean answered, his voice soft. He was already shifting to the balls of his feet, body twisting to shield Ellie and Charlotte from the stares coming their way.

"Those the girls that Missouri told us about?" the woman behind the bar asked. Her voice was husky, smooth like whiskey, and she seemed to be the only one whose hand wasn't automatically inching towards her weapon.

"Yeah," Sam said when Dean just looked at him. They both heard the click at the same time, the expulsion of air that followed the nose of a gun that appeared from around the edge of the bar – wielded by someone they couldn't even see. Something barreled towards them, hard and fast, while every other person in the room held their ground. Watching and waiting.

It _was_ a goddamn test.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said, pushing Charlotte backwards. She toppled over with Ellie still in her arms, the little girl crying out and struggling against the redhead. Neither of them saw Dean's eyes go dark or his jaw go slack as his body crashed to the floor right next to them – but they both went still when they heard the slap of Dean's head against the floor.

And then Ellie screamed, legs kicking as she tried to stand up. Fists lashing out and one of them connected with Charlotte's stomach with enough force that Charlotte's entire body arched. _Shit._ The little girl's hands were shining, a soft blue glow that echoed the roar pouring through Sam's veins. Blood calling to blood, a flicker of blue along her cheekbone. Ellie kneeled next to Dean's body with her hands on his back, head thrown back with a howl as her braids began blowing in their own wind. "Dean, wake _up_!"

Hands flew towards weapons, and the room was filled with the sounds of cocking guns and chairs falling backwards as hunters moved into their positions. "She's a fucking demon," the woman in leather said aloud, quarterstaff in her hand. She looked back at John, who was watching the whole thing and saying nothing. Still watching and waiting like this was the most normal thing in the world – like little girls glowed blue every single day at _Harvelle's Roadhouse_.

But not one of those hunters moved. Sam guessed he wasn't the only one used to waiting for his father's orders.

"She's just scared," Charlotte said as she struggled to get to her knees. She took a breath, pitching her voice low. "Trust me. She won't hurt you," Charlotte added, her mouth twisting as she cocked her head – eyes focused on the little girl.

"John!" One of the hunters barked – Sam thought it was the woman from behind the bar.

"Just let us calm her down," Sam added, keeping his voice just as calm as Charlotte's had been as he looked directly at his father. Charlotte was limping towards Ellie, whispering something so softly that only the little girl could hear her.

"No," the little girl said suddenly, shaking her head. "They _killed_ Dean!" The power coming out of her when she screamed her accusation called to the fire inside of Sam. He didn't know why the sigils weren't busting against his skin, especially when Ellie stood to face the bar, eyes glowing as blue as her hands and as wild as the wind that whipped her hair around her head. Maybe he was learning to control it after all.

"Fuck this!" It was a man's voice, followed by another shot. A shower of pellets roared towards Ellie. _Rock salt._ Sam started to move but Charlotte was closer, body twisting as she tripped on her shoe. She managed to grab Ellie, falling forward and dragging the little girl out of the way like it was the last thing she ever expected to do. Sam heard the soft slap of pellets sinking into flesh, and Charlotte cried out – both arms held firmly around Ellie as Charlotte curled around her; she'd been hit by some strays bouncing up off the floor.

It could have been a _lot_ worse – tripping had actually moved her out of the line of fire.

"Enough." Sam's voice was quiet, the weight of his tone sinking every body in the room – weapons lowering automatically. And it was his own voice, unmarked by the power surging through his veins. It was the bark of command he learned from his father's tutelage, the way a Winchester gave orders no one could refuse. Sam's eyes met his father's. "We _never_ knew you, did we?" Sam asked softly. "Not even Dean…"

His father flinched, a flash of guilt flushing across his features before John Winchester squared his shoulders. Body rising to his full height as his jaw clenched, and he got the Winchester look in his eyes. "I had to be sure, son."

Sam grit his teeth. "And are you?"

"Help me pick up your brother," his father returned.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


Ellie had stopped crying, curled up on Charlotte's lap while they sat together on a hard-backed chair. The blonde girl with the rifle was standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed in front of her stomach – her rifle leaned up against the wall. Charlotte had no doubts the girl wouldn't pull it on her if she tried something; the blonde wasn't difficult to read, even without the flashes that Charlotte was getting. The woman from behind the bar pulled the tranquilizer dart from Dean's shoulder blade, placing it on the table next to the bed.

Sam was close by – probably another nearby room because she didn't hear him in the hall – and he was livid. Charlotte didn't actively try to sense more; Ellie was all that mattered, holding on until Dean woke up. The little girl was still shaking uncontrollably, breath a harsh rasp within her lungs, and Charlotte felt like she'd been the one screaming. A burn in her throat as Ellie continued to scream silently in their heads.

"Jo'll keep an eye on the boy," the older woman said. "You should come with me. Let me take a look at your back."

"No." Charlotte's refusal sounded harsh, even in her own ears. The older woman started, eyes narrowing. "I won't leave Ellie," Charlotte explained. Ellie needed her – and Charlotte was not going to tell them what she and Sam had read in Ellie's case file, how the police had found her cradled over her mother's body asking her to wake up. Curled up in her mother's blood. How seeing Dean had brought all of that back.

Charlotte had stopped breathing herself when she saw Dean lying on the floor.

"I can keep an eye on her, too," Jo said.

"Thank you, but I'm _not_ leaving Ellie alone with a stranger. I'll wait here until Dean wakes up." Charlotte pulled her arms more tightly around the little girl, resting her chin on Ellie's head; she thought that would make them angry, but Ellen actually smiled at the tone in her voice and Jo looked at her with something a little like respect. "Or until Sam comes back," Charlotte added, lifting her chin. "It's kind of you to offer."

The older woman chuckled, staring at her with an approval Charlotte did not expect. "Given how stubborn Winchesters are, you could be waiting here a long time." She grinned as she stretched out her hand. "The name's Ellen."

It was either a peace offering or a test. Charlotte had no choice but to grasp the hand and shake it. She sucked in a breath as their palms touched, waiting for the metal to slam into the back of her head – for the white light to rupture from beneath her eyelids, to be thrown open by the Call. "Charlotte," she answered when nothing happened. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ellen."

Ellen shook her head. "Missouri told me you'd be polite." She cocked her head towards Jo. "Someone could take lessons."

The blonde girl snorted. "Like someone polite could survive in this place," Jo snapped back. Both of them laughed, an easy camaraderie that reminded her of the way Sam and Dean teased each other.

Dean began to stir on the bed, his body shifting as his eyes opened. Ellie gasped, wriggling in Charlotte's lap. Charlotte let go of the little girl, hope flowing through both of them as Ellie cried, "Dean!" She hopped up next to him onto the bed, taking his right hand into both of her small ones.

"At least let me sit up, squirt," Dean said, laughing a little as he shifted his body up towards the headboard. Ellie didn't wait – she sat down right in his lap the moment she could. His eyes met hers, and Charlotte felt like they were the only two people in the room – especially when he returned her smile. "Sammy okay?" he asked. Charlotte nodded, the pain in her back flowering through her, and she winced. "But you're not," Dean added.

"I'm okay." Charlotte almost touched him then, leaning forward in the chair, but Jo was watching them closely. Charlotte's cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes. "Sam says I'm lucky I'm so clumsy," she added. "Only someone who hasn't fallen down at the worst possible moments in his life would say something like that." Dean snorted and returned her grin. "Have you ever tried arguing with your little brother?"

"You're preaching to the choir, Girl Genius." He cocked his head. "So what aren't you telling me?"

"What the girl isn't telling you, Dean Winchester, is that she's got a couple rock salt pellets in her back," Ellen said. Dean's hazel eyes snapped away from her face, focusing on the older woman; there was a question in them that he was unwilling to ask. "Nothing too serious," the woman added. "Just some after spray. But she was too goddamn stubborn to do anything about it until you woke up."

"Goddamn stubborn is an understatement." Dean frowned.

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but the door burst open; Sam stalked into the room, followed closely by his father.

John Winchester looked like all the pictures she'd seen of him, but those photographs couldn't capture the strength that glimmered underneath the surface – or the sorrow in his eyes if you looked deep enough. And the man carried his guilt as tightly as his sons, unwilling to let go of whatever caused it.

"Guess we should let the boys have their reunion," Ellen said lightly, looking at Jo. The younger woman was already picking up her rifle. Ellie refused to move, putting her arms firmly around Dean's neck – and Charlotte saw battle lines being drawn when John Winchester's mouth twisted and Dean's arms came around the little girl's waist. Shock and anger in both of them, the sting of betrayal still bouncing in Sam's eyes.

Charlotte stood up. "Would you take a look at my back, Ellen?" she asked quietly. Charlotte squared her shoulders as she stood up, knowing she couldn't stay. Even with shields up, the Winchesters _hurt_ – and she knew sticking around wouldn't make it any easier for either of them.

Somehow, she managed to close the door behind her without falling down.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


No one wanted to speak first.

Dad was standing against the wall, hands held loosely in his pockets, while he stared hard at the little girl Dean was holding in his arms. Sam never thought holding a kid would be considered an act of rebellion but Dad looked at Dean like he wanted to take him outside and make him do some kick-boxing – like he used to do when Dean was fourteen, chatting up waitresses twice his age.

"You should have sent the little girl out with Ellen," Dad said.

"So you could have someone fucking shoot her the way you tried to take out Charlie?" Dean asked.

"Don't use that tone with me, Dean." Their father was looking at Dean as though his oldest son had grown two heads.

Dean's nostrils flared. "Yes, _sir_." And there was betrayal in his older brother's voice, a reproach Sam had never seen before in Dean's hazel eyes as he stared at their father. _Oh, shit…_

"I needed to protect my people," his father returned. "This isn't a game. And that girl is Circle-trained."

"She's a college student, Dad." Sam snorted. "And her gift isn't exactly all that threatening." His father frowned. "Jesus, Dad! You should have warned us."

"Unless he was testing us, too." Dean's voice was soft. Ellie rested her cheek on his chest, looking at their father like she was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. "Trying to make certain we weren't compromised," Dean added.

"I should have known you'd make excuses for him," Sam retorted. _Just like a soldier following orders._ But Dean was staring hard at their father, and Sam realized the only thing keeping his older brother from leaping off his bed was Ellie Jenkins.

"I've been compromised by the Circle." Dad's jaw clenched, almost a twin to the expression on Dean's face. "Neither of you have any idea what it feels like to have that kind of evil inside of you." Dad brushed his hand through his hair. "You boys have no idea what the Circle of Enoch will do to make this thing happen."

They didn't say anything, just stared at him.

"I know that we need to talk, boys," Dad began, shaking his head sharply. "And we will. Just not…" His eyes flickered towards Ellie; Dad almost acted like he was scared of her. "I need you to trust me for just a little while longer. I need to be certain." Something in his eyes broke. "All I've ever wanted to do was keep you boys safe."

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  


Dean had been silent for at least thirty minutes, sitting at the bar. Nursing the same damn beer he'd been nursing since he saw Charlotte in one of the booths, talking easily to Jo like they were best friends. Sam had wanted to sit with them, even saw Charlotte wave her hand at Dean as he strode past them from the back – where Dean had managed to get Ellie to fall asleep. She was in Jo's room – with a promise they both believed from the woman that Ellie would be safe.

"You've been staring at that girl's head so much I'm surprised your neck isn't broken," Ellen said. "Both of you."

Dean didn't say anything, just took another swig of his beer. Sam glanced back at Charlotte. _Oh, shit…_ Dad had been sitting at one of the back tables – the one full of the survivalist wannabes – but he was standing at the edge of the booth where Charlotte was sitting with Jo. Smiling down at both of them – except Sam saw how tense Dad's shoulders were, and even Dean had twisted his head enough at the sound of his father's easy laughter.

Jo made a joke about giving them some privacy, and sidled back behind the bar to join her mother. Sam saw the look that flashed between them; he and Dean used it often enough at the end of a hunt. "Can I get some nachos?" Dean asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing at Jo.

"Sure," she said brightly, going back into the kitchen.

Sam looked at Dean. "Nachos?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, Ellen." He finished his bottle and slammed it on the counter in front of him. "Another beer?" Dean's jaw clenched when he heard Charlotte laughing at something their father had said.

Jo sauntered back out with a plate full of chips and greasy cheese, setting it in front of Dean with another smile, and leaned forward. "So you boys been hunting for a long time?"

"Long enough," Sam said, but her eyes never flickered away from Dean's face. Even Ellen shook her head when she set down an opened bottle of beer next to Dean's empty one.

"Your dad took me out on a hunt a couple of weeks ago," Jo said. Sam wondered how she continued when Dean's eyes settled on her face – the skin around his mouth was tight, and Dean had one fist clenched on the countertop in front of him. "A werewolf," she added softly. "He got me out alive."

"Your point?" Dean returned.

Jo took a deep breath, but whatever she was going to say stopped in her throat. The bar was silent – even the jukebox had stopped playing music – and every hunter in that bar was staring right at John Winchester's back, listening to his gravely voice. "So," their father said, eyes boring into Charlotte's face, "How long have you been fucking Sam?"

Charlotte spit something out of her mouth, and the glass she slammed down on the table fell over – most of it dripping onto her shirt. Ellen shook her head and walked over with a bar towel. "You heard me," Dad added. "How long have you been screwing my son?"

Dean was half off of his chair. "Going over there now won't help this, Dean," Sam said softly. They had both seen Dad have these conversations before, with people he needed to question. _Truth serum works, sons._ Who the hell knew what kind of cocktail he had someone slip into Charlotte's drink or whatever she had for dinner. _Doesn't leave any marks when you're done._

"The hell it won't!" Dean retorted, but he sat back down on the barstool. Charlotte didn't say anything, just turned around and Sam knew she was looking for Dean. When their eyes met, Dean grabbed the beer bottle and began chugging. Her face fell, and she looked confused. She was too far away to see the way Dean's throat worked, the freckles standing out on his face.

"You better answer him," Ellen said, slowly wiping off the table. "It'll be easier on you."

Charlotte focused on Ellen's face, and she nodded once. "I'm not." Charlotte's voice was so soft, Sam could barely hear it. And she sat up straight, and placed both hands on top of the table in front of her – uncaring of the fact that parts of her arms were getting wet. "I'm not," she said again, her voice as loud as his father's was when he asked the question. "And I never would!"

"But you want to," Dad suggested, leaning forward. His arms were getting wet, too.

"Why would I want to do that with _Sam_?" Charlotte shook her head vehemently. "I love Sam. I do." Dean inhaled sharply, and he stared at the counter like the world's history was written on it. "But I wouldn't ever sleep with Sam." Dean let out a ragged breath, expecting a different answer. Sam wasn't but it stung to have it so bluntly stated. The redhead was looking back towards them. "He's like my brother. He keeps trying to save me."

"And why would Sam want to save you?" That was Ellen – and Dad's entire face hardened when she asked it.

Charlotte made a little giggle. "Because he's Sam." She leaned forward towards Ellen, her voice full of a secret. "I think he knew that the Circle would find me. No matter how far I ran. I knew they would kill me when they found me. The price of betrayal." Sam felt tears standing in his eyes, his throat sore, as her brow furrowed. "But Sam wouldn't let me die. Threw me in the back seat of Dean's crap car. And it's good that he did. Because…" Charlotte's voice trailed off, and it was obvious that she was looking at Dean the next time her head turned towards the bar. "Because…" She swallowed.

"Because your mission is to corrupt Sam, isn't it?" Dad had one hand on her nearest arm, and she cried out a little from the pressure – looking back at him with widened eyes. "So you can make Sam fall?"

"Sam won't fall. Sam will rise." Charlotte's shoulders shook. "But Dean will fall. I saw it." She started to cry. "I couldn't even catch him. And he doesn't know that he's important. Wouldn't believe it if I told him." Dean was staring at her, open-mouthed, but Dad was frowning. "Dean is the most important thing in the world." She lowered her eyes. "I'm always Called for him. Twice in one day. And he thinks he's not important. But he is. The most important thing." Her voice sounded like she was telling another secret.

Dad's laughter was like a bell, ringing through Sam's head with a strident snap. "My god, you're screwing Dean," he said, eyes going as round as Charlotte's when the words registered. "You do realize that he fucks anything he can lay his hands on?" He almost sounded like he was trying to give the redhead a warning, looking across the table at her with a sigh, but Sam heard what Dad wouldn't tell her. _What the hell does my son see in you?_

"John!" Ellen slapped him with the wet towel. Dad opened his mouth to say more, but a look from the older woman stopped Dad cold.

"Fuck this," Dean muttered, off the stool and ten feet away before Sam could even think to stop him.

"The last time I checked, it didn't say Winchester's Roadhouse on the sign outside," Ellen snapped. "We've all seen enough to know that she's not a stone cold killer. That little girl took her out in front of all of us." Without waiting for Dad's response, Ellen reached into the booth and pulled Charlotte out of it. "Come on, honey. We need to go get you cleaned up."

"Hey, Charlie!" Dean called, her face lighting up when Charlotte heard his voice. Dad's eyes narrowed as Dean continued walking across the floor, hands jammed into his pockets. "You mind telling me why you did something stupid like dive-bombing Ellie? When she can regenerate?" He stopped moving when he stood right in front of her.

Charlotte's entire body stiffened, but she was still crying – soft sobs that nearly broke Sam's chest wide open every time one bubbled out of her throat. "She's six, Dean. Old enough to remember every single pellet. No matter how easily her body heals. Bodies heal but hearts don't. Not without help." And she reached forward and put her hand on Dean's chest, realized what she was doing and pulled it back to her side. "Couldn't let her live with that. Won't. Her heart hurts too much already." Charlotte swayed on her feet, stumbling right into Dean.

"I trusted _you_, Dad." Dean's voice was soft, but it made the hair stand up on Sam's neck. His arms were tight around Charlotte, holding her steady. And Dad swallowed hard, looked at Dean like he was trying to think of something to say. "I told Charlie this place was safe. What are you going to do next? Have someone stab Ellie and watch how fast it takes her to heal? Maybe you could take Charlie out back and have some of the boys rough her up the next time you want her to talk."

"Dean," Ellen interjected. The look on her face was kind, but it was obvious by the way she moved between them that Ellen Harvelle was still on Dad's side, would protect him even when she didn't agree with him. "Your father – "

"Had to be certain," Sam finished for her.

She nodded. "Too much is at stake. And it's late." Her eyes looked at them both. "Don't say things now that you can't take back."

Dean's jaw tightened, but his shoulders slumped when he looked right into Dad's eyes – like he was remembering all the things he used to tell Sam whenever his little brother railed against Dad's choices. "Okay," he said softly. "We'll talk in the morning." Dean looked at Ellen. "You got a room for both of us?" he added.

"I already told the girl about the guest room upstairs at the end of the hallway. Had Ash move her things up there. It's private." Ellen's eyes narrowed. "I thought we could move Ellie into the room with her. The bed's big enough. You boys were going in the other room right next to hers. The room across from Jo's."

"Not exactly the sleeping arrangements I had in mind," Dean returned, and he started walking away – making certain that Charlotte didn't stumble, no matter how much she was still swaying on her feet. Dean didn't see it, but Dad's eyes flickered the same way Dean's did when neither of them could figure out how to cross those spaces the Winchesters kept between themselves.

Sam thought that was going to be the end of it, but then Dean looked over his shoulder. "There's just something I need to ask, Dad." His older brother's voice was gruff. "You raised us. Taught us everything we know. Told us the only way we'd make it out alive was to trust you. To trust in each other. How come it never once occurred to you to trust us?" He swallowed. "To trust _me_?"

Dad didn't say anything – just frowned and turned his back before walking away. Ellen tried to stop him, put a hand on his arm as he left, and even Jo moved near the door to cut him off before he could leave. Sam watched as their father opened the door, his body outlined by the lights of a car pulling into one of the parking spaces in front of the bar.

Sam didn't say anything, either, when Dean's eyes met his. His older brother's shoulders sagged and then Dean looked away, too.

Dad had said enough for all three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is a song by Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians.
> 
> Yes, there's an homage to quellefromage's _King of the Road_ in here. I couldn't resist. How could I resist? Dean would be hot in a tiara. And that fic made me laugh harder than anything I've read in a long time.
> 
> Although the location of _Harvelle's Roadhouse_ has never been divulged in canon, I took a cue from the '_Nebraska is for Lovers_' t-shirt that shows up in "No Exit" – especially when I found the city of Valentine. Well, it's a small city. Around 3,000 residents, which means not so many people to ask questions about the weird folk that end up at the place.


	3. Into the Fire

The simple plans always came back to bite her in the ass.

Maybe someday she'd think the whole thing was funny, that screwing up was part of her charm – if her back didn't hurt like hell, throbbing along with her head, and the memory of Ellie's scream wasn't rattling inside like fingernails on a chalkboard. Charlotte knew that the whole thing was going to be hard, half-expected the greeting they received at the hands of John Winchester's army. And she might even have helped Sam out of the standoff if some brain trust hadn't tried to take matter into his own hands, putting Dean out of commission and Ellie into an emotional tailspin.

It was pretty much all she wrote after _that_.

Charlotte leaned into the small shower, trying to rinse her hair without splashing water onto her cast. She was grateful for the privacy; Ellen had taken one look at her scars and erred on the side of sympathy – giving Charlotte the one upstairs room with its own attached bathroom. Ellen's jaw had actually tensed when she saw them, tried to pass it off with a joke about how the scars from the rock salt wouldn't be so bad – but Charlotte recognized the cold stab of pity when she felt it.

Ellen Harvelle had been feeling sorry for her from the first moment their eyes met, and it didn't let up, even after Charlotte was bandaged up and given some pills for the pain.

Not that Charlotte hadn't earned it; between her less than graceful attempt to protect Ellie and a plan almost as brilliant as the one that threw her in the backseat of the Impala, Charlotte Anne Webb was having a bang-up day.

She had seen the clues. Jo Harvelle had anxiety pouring off of her the moment she sat down and set two pints of beer on Charlotte's table, especially when it was immediately followed up by the flash of Jo putting something into one of the glasses. Charlotte decided not to say anything. She knew it was just a matter of time before John Winchester rambled over to her table and started asking her questions; if he needed to slip her something to feel comfortable about their talk, Charlotte had no problem drinking it.

John Winchester wouldn't trust her if he knew her Gift had revealed his secret, that Jo slipped something into Charlotte's drink. The look on his face when Ellie had called the Ziv Zakai was proof enough of that. Those powers were why his wife was killed, why his sons grew up on the run; Charlotte couldn't blame him because those powers stole John Winchester's life as easily as a fire had stolen hers. And Charlotte wanted him to trust her, for Dean and for Sam and maybe even for herself. So she made small talk with Jo, answering questions about traveling with the Winchesters and ignoring the blonde girl's guilt.

Without any warning at all, John Winchester sauntered over to her table and sat down with a smile; the same smile his oldest son had flashed at her when Dean slid next to her into the booth at Alfie's. Charlotte expected questions about the Circle – what her role was, why she had left, what information she could provide about their goals and tactics. But John Winchester was as uncanny as his sons and he started asking her about her relationship with Sam. Charlotte wanted to sink into the booth. _How long have you been fucking Sam?_ The question was bad enough, but he said it so loudly everyone in the bar had heard.

Her answers just started pouring out.

Charlotte shivered, wrapping her hair in a towel and pulling on her robe. She didn't even remember everything she said; whatever the drug was, it was like watching the world through a series of snapshots. And one of them was clearer than all the rest – the look on Dean's face, cutting worse than any demon's claw through her back. She hadn't gained John Winchester's trust; even if she had, the price was too high. There was no reason for Dean Winchester to trust her now.

At least Ellen and Jo had left her in the room to wake up by herself after they undressed her. Charlotte hoped it was Ellen and Jo; she really didn't want to get a flash of her scars from one of the hunters downstairs. _Or that Ash guy…_

She turned off her iPod and stepped out of the bathroom, dropping the towel over the desk chair just as she saw the bare foot wriggling on the comforter. Dean had made himself at home – sacked out on her bed with headphones on, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts as he leaned up against the headboard. His hair was wet, like he'd taken a shower. Everything locked up tight inside; Dean probably didn't even realize that he used music the same way that she did.

He grinned at her but it didn't reach his eyes. "That Jo girl stuck me in a room with Sam," Dean said, "And you know he's been snoring a lot lately." His duffel bag was perched right next to hers, along with his gun bag and the Winchesters' first aid kit.

"There's still a lot of bruising around his eye," she returned.

"So it was either shacking up with you or spending the night on one of the pool tables downstairs." Dean pulled off his headphones, setting them on the bedside table next to one of her iPods.

They stared at each other like idiots.

There was so much to talk about but when she opened her mouth to say something, all that came out was a squeak. Charlotte didn't even know where to start – what she had said, how many secrets had tumbled out before someone had brought her upstairs – and Dean wasn't giving anything away. When he swallowed once and looked away, the words didn't matter.

Charlotte crossed the room and hobbled up onto the bed. Dean looked like he was trying to say something, too, but then she brought herself up and plastered her mouth on his; bracing herself against his chest while his hands wound into her hair. What mattered was Dean kissing her back, tasting like beer and nachos but mostly like _Dean_, and she felt like an idiot all over again. Trembling and breathless and trying like hell not to cry because of all the things she should have said to him before his father pulled them out of her.

"Geek Boy thought you'd lock me out," Dean said, one thumb brushing away the tear on her cheek. "Hey," he added softly.

Charlotte blinked and took a breath. "You'd just get your telekinetic little brother to unlock the door for you," she returned, and his hazel eyes were just as full as hers. "And then you'd waltz back inside like you owned the place."

"Sometimes I pick the locks myself," Dean returned solemnly. "Just to stay in practice."

"All I can do is translate dead languages."

"Since that's part of our plan, I dragged your scrawny ass up here." Dean's arms tightened around her. "I even undressed you." One hand brushed her forehead. "_That_ would have been a lot more fun if the girl trying to hump me wasn't loopier than a fruit bat." His voice was low in his throat. "And the beer just made us both sticky by the time you were done."

"Beer?"

"Between what you spilled and what you spit out of your mouth, I was damned impressed."

"Oh, God…" Charlotte wanted to hide but the best that she could do was bury her face in his chest.

"So now's probably not the best time to pull out that picture of you dancing on the table and singing _Ring My Bell_?" Dean flashed his trademark grin at her.

"You're such a jerk sometimes," Charlotte said, returning his grin with a smile.

She leaned up to brush her lips against his, caught short by the sudden shadows in his eyes. "You sure said a lot of things, Charlie." Dean's voice was rough and the sick feeling in her head was making her dizzy, like she was falling backwards.

"Things I shouldn't have said?"

"Well, you made Sam get freaking emo." He shook his head sharply. "And you have an awful high opinion of me."

Charlotte didn't let his eyes stop her a second time, kissing him while her heart stumbled in her chest – trembling a little when he opened his mouth to hers, trying to douse the fire that was burning inside. Her own throat was so sore, Charlotte couldn't say anything. Just kissed him as long as he would let her.

Dean started talking when they paused for breath. "Knew a girl once. Wanted to be a part of her life so much I even told her the truth about me. And she thought I was crazy." His hands twitched against her hips, guilt washing through both of them. "After I saw her last year, I swore I'd never…" Dean's voice trailed off and he started staring at something on the ceiling.

Even their breathing was loud in her ears.

"You swore you'd never get close to anyone again," Charlotte said slowly. Dean didn't say anything. But he didn't feel like he was letting her down easy, shock and anger and fear whirling in his stomach; his mouth twisted like it always did when Dean thought he'd already said too much. He felt like a bear caught in a trap, trying to warn her about something.

Dean took a ragged breath. "I can't even protect you." And that was an effort for him to say, ripped out behind a wild look in his eyes.

She couldn't protect him, either. Charlotte didn't need to close her eyes to remember. _Her hands, holding him as he fell – farther and faster than they had ever fallen in dreams, than they had ever fallen before. Than they would ever fall again._ Heard the voice from her last vision. _He's not ready._ There were things coming, just over the horizon; things that swirled around Sam and everyone who was near him. _The line snaps._ Angry things that wanted to break them all, unsatisfied with just a pound of flesh.

"I bring you here and you end up getting shot. What if they'd used bullets?" His voice was sharp-edged in his throat and she saw herself soaring backwards – landing on a floor with blood pooling underneath her. His hands were in her hair, pushing strands back behind her ears. "I told you this place was _safe_, Charlie."

She moved without even thinking and Dean jerked as her lips came down on his. Charlotte pushed everything she wouldn't say into his mouth – with her breath, tongue flickering against his. "That wasn't your fault, Dean," Charlotte whispered, her hands sliding behind his neck. But Dean spoke Winchester; words didn't work – so she kissed him again, snaking a tendril past those iron bands Dean kept around himself. One single crack wide open, like it was waiting just for her.

Dean recoiled when he felt the spark of her inside; full of disbelief as the memory of his lips brushing across every inch of her evoked a litany – the certain knowledge that she was on the verge of becoming, that she was alive for the very first time in her life, because of _him_. Charlotte pulled back to look Dean right in the eyes when he realized it, his skin so white that his freckles were stark across his nose. She slowly untied her belt; slipped off the robe with a shuffle of her shoulders.

She didn't speak Winchester but she'd think of something.

Charlotte licked the succubus scars on his chest, her hands reaching down to the waistband of his boxers; Dean bucked his hips and there was a stutter in his throat when she dipped down once to trace the scars on his left hip with her tongue. _The way I see it, you got your scars the same way. Saving your dad._ She curled her fingers around the elastic and pulled the boxers down just enough to get where she wanted.

He moaned when her lips encircled him, a slow sucking that grew more urgent when his hands fisted in her hair – and his voice was an animal thing as she flicked her tongue against him, moving fast and slow and swirling until she was slick with wanting; releasing him as quickly as she started. Dean's eyes flung open as she sank down, piercing herself so sharply on his cock that she could feel him swell within her. His fingers scratching her shoulders, her back, her arms. He understood her hips working slowly against him, the rise and fall of him deep inside.

And there were sounds in their language – his voice whispering her name, the brusque hitch to her breath as he rolled her over and her back slammed into the mattress. She screamed when he pushed deep, opening herself wide and wrapping her right leg around his thigh; the slap of flesh, her body rearing against his. Harder. Faster. Fingers digging into his arms, red half-moons on his skin. _Harder._ They were both speaking in tongues when the spasm rocked through her. She cried out as she came, hard and quivering, while Dean groaned.

"Charlie," he murmured suddenly.

She shuddered with him, arms around his neck until he stilled completely. Her back hurt and Charlotte felt the bruises underneath the fingers clamped onto her hips. Could still feel him ramming inside of her; an ache where he no longer was. And she knew there were scratches, that he'd ripped off some of her bandages. Charlotte didn't care – the need to mark him, to touch and be touched, thrummed through her – and Dean rolled onto his back with an expression she'd never seen; a feeling so jumbled inside that she couldn't name it.

But his eyes were unguarded when he touched her face.

"I don't think any place is safe," Charlotte said when she finally found her voice, could think beyond _Dean_ to form words. "Not anymore. That storm gets closer no matter where we go." She kissed him again, because Dean was watching her like a wounded deer. "So maybe it's not about you protecting me," she added. The look in his eyes made her chest hurt. "Maybe it's about us taking care of each other. You and me. And Sam and Ellie. The people we'll find. Even _this_ place. Like a…" _Family._

Dean sucked in a breath, one finger trailing down a scratch he'd left on her right arm. "I'll take all the help I can get," he said, his voice getting stronger as he spoke. "Once Ellen takes a good look at you, she's going to kick my ass." His voice took on the bartender's cadence. "_That girl needs her rest._"

"I'll kick her ass if she looks at you the wrong way." Charlotte kissed him on the forehead, brushing her hand through his hair. "I'll grab the nearest book bag and unleash hell if she even _thinks_ about messing with what's mine." And she raised her chin, knowing that she was daring something by the way his mouth quirked when he stared back at her.

"Never had a girl willing to go toe-to-toe for me with a book bag," Dean said finally.

Charlotte smiled, because otherwise it stung, and she knew then why Winchesters were always cracking jokes. "When properly applied, a book bag can be a formidable weapon," she said, mouth twisting, "Provided I don't fall down while I'm swinging it."

"You are a _freak_." Dean snorted. Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her – a smile playing against her lips as she brought her arms back around his neck. "You can yell at me all you want after I take care of you," he said. Dean was his own language, a different kind of Winchester than Sam for all that they shared the same basic vocabulary. His hand brushed down one of the bandages that had come undone and Charlotte shivered.

The next thing she knew, Dean was standing and sliding the rest of the way out of his boxer shorts. He grinned as she watched him and then pulled her off the bed; actually picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He set her on the counter and kissed her for a long time before realizing he had forgotten the first aid kit.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam had gone to bed after Dean moved his things into Charlotte's room next door. He was alone; Ellie was still asleep in Jo's room and the blonde girl was sleeping with her mother downstairs.

He lay in bed, listening to the murmur of voices on the other side of the wall. It was hypnotic and Sam sank into the mattress; Dean's tone was low and Charlotte spoke with a musical cadence that Sam suspected she didn't realize that she used. Hearing low laughter after what happened downstairs made whatever was coming easier to face. The small things hadn't gotten lost yet in the swirling mass of Shemhezai's wrath.

Even his eye was hurting less the closer he drifted to sleep.

Their voices changed and Sam floated in a lullaby of sighs and soft sounds – but the moment Charlotte gave out a half-ragged scream, Sam's eyes snapped open. His own body stirred as he listened to the rhythm, voices rough and tender in counterpoint to the creak of the mattress. It was Jess and Stanford and all of the bright things he remembered having in California and before Sam knew it, he was riding it out right along with them; keeping his own cries low because they were on the other side of the wall.

Not that they would have heard him.

When they stopped talking and Sam heard running water coming from the room, he eased himself out of the bed; grabbing a towel and a change of underwear, he headed towards the restroom. There was still a light on downstairs in the bar, flickering up the stairs. And the light was there after he closed the bathroom door behind him, a voice singing softly to the music playing low on the jukebox. Sam didn't even have to close his eyes to know who was singing; the voice was a constant memory, gruff and angry and worried.

Sam probably would have let it go and gone to bed but the moment his head hit the pillow, he heard Charlotte making tiny little moans on the other side of his headboard and Dean's voice was a grumble; Sam knew he wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon if he stayed. He pulled a t-shirt on over his boxers and padded downstairs in his bare feet.

His father was crouched in the corner of the same booth he used to interrogate Charlotte, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. There was a second glass, which Sam realized that Dad had probably set out for Dean – drinking together was their way of apologizing after a fight. His stomach hurt when his father's eyes focused on him and fell, realizing that Sam wasn't the son that John Winchester was waiting for; but then Dad was pushing the glass in his direction as Sam walked forwards, a low growl inside that roared before sullenly going silent.

_I need you near, but love and duty called you higher –   
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire._

"Springsteen," Sam said softly, sliding into the booth. He swallowed as his father's jaw clenched, followed by a nod before John looked away. Sam helped himself to two fingers of whiskey and took a sip from the glass before coughing.

"You look like hell, Sam." His father's voice was husky, almost as dark as his eyes.

Sam almost made a crack about that being normal when there was a demon in your belly but his father's shoulders were slumping and there was a look in his eyes like he'd been beaten down too much and didn't know how to pick himself up. Sam knew how that felt, feeling the fingers ripping through his skin; of being shed like a worthless snakeskin.

"Your mother would kill me herself if she saw you like this." Dad took a long pull from the glass before slamming it down on the table. He was already filling it up again when he looked across at Sam. "I got my wish, Sam. You're a soldier. I can see it in the way you move, the way you talk. The way you tried to protect those girls." John shook his head. "And I'd take it all back if I could."

"Dad…"

"Is it true that your eye was ripped out, son?" And the way Dad asked it, Sam knew his father was asking for a lie.

Sam couldn't give it to him. He nodded, the ache in the socket as constant as it had been the night that the _Cordi Peredo_ pulled it out of his head. "The demon we were fighting was trying to taunt Shemhezai." Sam tried to make his voice calm when he said it but his father's body recoiled anyway when he said _Shemhezai_. "Charlotte says it was Dean that saved us. I think it was blind luck," Sam added. He rubbed his stomach absently, feeling his shirt rough against the healing scabs.

His father actually chuckled at that, staring hard at Sam's bruised face, before taking another sip of his whiskey. "I should have told you sooner, Sam. You shouldn't have learned about that _thing_…from a stranger." Sam's throat tightened; it was the closest thing to an apology his father had ever given him, wrung out by alcohol and remorse. "I thought I could keep you safe, until…" Dad's head snapped sharply. "It's why I kept running."

"But I went to Stanford," Sam returned. "And the Circle killed Jess to get to me."

"Only Dean grabbed you and started running all over again." Dad's index finger went around the rim of his glass and he frowned. "He doesn't think I trust him. I left you with him, raised him to protect you."

"What do you expect him to think, Dad? Someone tried to blast Ellie full of rock salt because they couldn't tell the difference between a demon and the light of God. Hell, you drugged Charlotte." Sam felt the anger eddy inside his chest, remembering the way Ellie screamed when she saw Dean laying prone on the floor or the throb in Charlotte's voice when she told a room full of strangers about broken hearts and the sacrifices she was willing to make to help Sam Winchester. "We gave our word that they'd be safe and you broke it for both of us," Sam added.

Dad's eyes glittered and he turned his head, hearing the jukebox click to another song. "This is a war, son. I didn't start it but I'm going to finish it. Those girls don't matter to me the way you boys do."

Sam wanted to slam down his glass and list all of the ways those girls mattered to _him_ but Dad couldn't even meet his eyes. It was like watching Dean during those first few days on the road with Charlotte, realizing black and white was a lot more gray than it should have been. Sam could have told them both that the world never worked the way Winchesters thought it should.

Stanford had taught him that.

"Besides," his father continued in his crusty voice, "Can't change what I've done to either of them. All we can do now is find some common ground." John drained the glass and held it to his cheek. "And that's nothing compared to what I did to _Dean_."

Sam's ribs felt like they were cracking and it had nothing to do with the thing sliding through them. John Winchester was breaking right there in a booth – his body curled between the table and the wall, the glass shaking in his hand. His father was cutting himself and spilling out everything for Sam to see and he could hear Charlotte's soft voice. _Penance._ And the look in his father's eyes was one Sam heard him dismiss so many times while they were growing up, the shakes that his father could never quite hide after a hunt.

"I don't know if…" Sam began when his father began pouring another shot of whiskey, liquid spilling over the edge of the glass.

"You're a smart boy, Sam, but you don't know as much as you think you do." His father's voice was gravelly and it felt like Sam's ribs were opening up all over again when he watched his father breathe. "About your mother, your brother. The Beata left us to fend for ourselves after she died. There were things I had to do…" John Winchester was actually trying to cross the spaces between them.

"Not now, Dad." And Sam meant it. He wanted to know the truth without having to pull it from his father like a violation. "Ellen was right. We need to talk…but not tonight." Sam sounded stronger than he felt and he brought his glass up to his mouth for a swallow. "There's things you need to know, too."

His father just looked at him like he used to when Sam fell in the park and came running to Daddy with two skinned knees. "No more secrets, Sammy," John Winchester said finally. "Not after tomorrow. We can't win this thing with secrets."

Sam's mouth quirked up but he didn't say anything. The song changed on the jukebox again, an old Stones song that used to make Dean laugh, and both of them chuckled. It was easier to sing along with his father, closing his eyes and remembering how the Impala howled through Oklahoma with _Beggar's Banquet_ as its soundtrack. Goddamn Dean had kept on singing the whole time. Dad was so drunk he didn't even realize that all Sam was doing was moving his mouth while John Winchester bellowed about being born in a crossfire hurricane.

There were some secrets Sam Winchester wasn't ready to give up.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_She was sitting next to Daddy on the swing, tucked underneath his arm and snuggled against his chest. Charlie could hear the crickets calling to each other in the yard as Daddy's long legs pushed the swing slowly, back and forth, until her eyes started to close and her head jerked forward. Daddy would laugh every time she mumbled and woke back up, pushing back into him. Sometimes, she'd look up into his brown eyes and he'd smile down at her, crinkles in the corners. _

_She knew nothing could hurt her on that swing and the only thing she worried about was Daddy letting her stay up longer with him. Charlie was safe. Always safe and warm, listening to his breath whisper in his chest; two strong arms around her, holding her tight. Holding her close as the crickets sang around them, and the moon shone down on the grass still wet with the rain. Charlie wished she and Daddy could stay like that forever, just the slow rock of the swing and night sounds all around them._

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charlotte realized she was blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. Her left arm was wrapped around Dean's waist as she lay on top of him and he was holding her close while he slept. She'd never expected that, the tenderness that was underneath the surface – the way his voice would go soft in his throat when he said her name or the look in his eyes when he listened to her read to Ellie. Not even Miles had held her while they slept, never touched her the way that Dean did; his rough fingers soft against her scars.

An entire library of books hadn't prepared her for Dean Winchester. He had ruined every plan Charlotte had made, for herself and for Sam, but she couldn't stay angry the moment Dean smirked at her and called her _Charlie_. It made her want to trust him, because Dean Winchester knew her _real_ name, even when every instinct inside was telling her to run – that the thing inside of Sam wanted to break her, break them all, and Charlotte Webb was the weakest link in the chain.

Her cheek was pressed against a slick spot on his chest and she brought one hand up to check her mouth. _Oh, crap…_ She sure as hell wasn't giving him the chance to make fun of her for drooling on him. Except she had a wet spot on her forehead where his mouth was resting.

Moving her arm slowly, Charlotte tried to bring herself up into a sitting position. Dean's arms weren't budging and her chin smacked into his shoulder, hard enough to jar her teeth a little. "What the fuck, Charlie," Dean muttered, hazel eyes focusing on her face. "Are you trying to kill me in my sleep?" One hand wiped at his chest. "Jesus," he added, grinning at her. "I'm covered in spit. Maybe I should have taken my luck with a pool table."

"At least my hair would be dry," Charlotte retorted.

His eyes focused on her matted hair and Dean actually had the grace to chuckle before pulling up the comforter and wiping her forehead with it. "Better?" Dean asked softly.

"Maybe we should both get cleaned up," she said. Charlotte reached up to kiss his chin. "I might even let you help me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I charge for my services." One hand slithered out and started tickling her underneath her arm and Dean was laughing until Charlotte kicked and accidentally hit his shin with her cast. "You fight dirty," he said, rolling her over onto her back. The pressure hurt, small prickles from the rock salt wounds, but she wasn't going to let that stop her.

"And you scream like a little girl," Charlotte answered, snaking her hand out to tickle right where his leg met his hip.

"You bitch!" But Dean couldn't keep the hooting noise from escaping his lips when her fingers connected with his skin – even by twisting his body out of the way.

Charlotte reached up and kissed him, wanting to touch his crooked smile before it went away. She still hadn't told him everything she should have; they had spent hours talking, but Dean always managed to touch the right place with his lips or wind his hands through her hair while pushing her backwards and the last thing Charlotte wanted to do when he did that was talk. Even after just waking up, he was insatiable. Charlotte pulled back. "How can a man who hunts demons be so horrible at tickle fights? No wonder Ellie always wins."

Dean laughed. "Maybe I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security," he whispered into her neck. "Waiting for the perfect moment to make my move."

"I can't believe you're trying to make a move on me when your chest is covered in drool." Charlotte snorted, holding him tight as she looked up into his eyes.

"It's _your_ drool, sweetheart." Dean's lopsided grin wasn't a denial. "And I don't see you doing anything to get yourself out of the situation. You're probably some kind of glutton for punishment."

"_Probably_? I'm in love with the world's biggest prick." Charlotte sighed and suddenly felt a clench inside when her eyes met Dean's. He was staring at her like she was an alien thing wearing her skin.

_Oh, fuck...._

"Don't tease a man like that, Charlie." His voice was gruff but he hadn't let her go.

Charlotte swallowed. "I'm not teasing," she said softly. "It's true." It happened somewhere between Dean splinting her leg in Wisconsin and being kissed in a food court like she was the last woman in the world. She just didn't realize it until she was standing in a roadhouse in Nebraska and having her heart ripped open to a bar full of strangers, an admission she remembered even if they didn't know what it really meant.

_Dean is the most important thing in the world._

Maybe it was happening too fast and before getting shoved in the back of the Impala that would have bothered her – but a storm was coming. _Time isn't always on your side, Charlie. Sometimes you have to jump._ "This won't change anything," Charlotte continued, her confidence dwindling when his shoulders twitched. "You've got other priorities. I know that. Sam will always come first. It's one of the things I love about you." Saying it a second time made it easier.

"_One_ of the things?" Dean's throat was working and he looked like he wanted to fling himself off of her and run. Charlotte could appreciate the feeling – she'd probably be hiding in the bathroom if he wasn't pinning her down. "You've got a list or something?" Dean demanded.

"I do." Charlotte stopped looking into his eyes long enough to kiss him before sinking back down into the pillow, trembling when he took a deep breath and just wrapped himself around her. There were so many things she could say and probably not the ones he'd expect – the way Dean did the voices when he read out loud to Ellie or the fact that he shared Ding Dongs with both of them and tried to hide what he was doing. The morning Dean woke her up and started showing her every single one of his scars and told her stories in that voice of his about how he got them. Not to mention every time he poked her in the arm.

"You're just full of surprises," he said, and his eyes looked so young that Charlotte thought she was imagining it until her chest flared – a burning inside that matched his, and it had nothing to do with the Grigori or the secrets of the Beata or anything snarling down the winds that led to Sam. Dean's hands were in her hair again and his mouth started making lazy swirls on her neck.

The war had started and the people who would fight it were beginning to stir, soldiers preparing to face a fate they couldn't avoid, and it was hard not to feel guilty about waking up in Dean Winchester's arms. So many people full of fear and mistrust and a burning need to take back their world and she was stumbling into something with Dean where prophecies and plans no longer held the answers, where all that mattered was _Dean_ and the parts of herself she was just beginning to recognize. It didn't seem fair to find that when Sam was trying so hard not to lose himself.

"Your brother's still your first priority, right?"

Dean's eyes softened. "Nothing's going to change that."

"Good." Charlotte took a breath. "And if we can't make this work without hurting Sam, we'll stop?"

"There's no way _we're_ going to hurt Sam."

"Dean – "

"It'll be okay, Charlie."

When Charlotte opened her mouth to say something back, she wasn't surprised when his mouth slammed down onto hers and Dean kept her quiet with his hands and the way he was pushing her down against the mattress – another shield gone as she breathed against his lips. One day there was going to be nothing left between them but each other; that should have scared her but Charlotte just closed her eyes and heard crickets singing.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam woke up to the smell of strawberries and Dean's chuckle as an arm curled around his.

"That can't be comfortable," Dean said as Sam sat up, pushing his shoulders into the leather of the seat behind his back. "He's bonier than you are." His older brother's eyes were bright and he was pushing a plate piled full of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast covered with butter in Sam's direction. "It's not a Big Mac but it'll probably do the trick."

Sam's stomach rumbled and he felt faintly sick, both sensations at war with each other. He didn't remember how long he and Dad had stayed up, drinking whiskey and listening to songs ramble out of the jukebox; _old songs from the war_, Dad had said, his hand shaking the whole time and his eyes looking more haunted than they had in years. As the world came into focus, Sam spotted Ellie, sitting at a table with Ash while the two of them colored together. Charlotte's arm was looped through his and she leaned up to kiss him on the forehead.

"Your brother's a jerk," she said softly and the cotton taste in his mouth eased just enough for the smell of the eggs to be appetizing – and the bacon was cooked soft, almost as greasy as a Big Mac. At least they hadn't tried to give him a banana.

"I'm the one who fixed him a plate of food," Dean retorted, stretching his arms up into the air while the two of them smiled at each other. Sam waited for the scream inside that heralded Shemhezai's scorn but all he heard was the rush of blood in his ears, pumping as his heart sped up. It was slow and easy between them, like it used to be with him and Jess and that _ached_ because he still missed it – but Charlotte's arm tightened around his and Dean's eyes turned towards Sam with uncertainty inside.

They were both asking him for permission, a question caught between Dean's swallow and Charlotte's arm entangled with his. Sam knew what was coming – what was planned for them by the thing that was going to break the world – and _no_ was the only answer that might keep both of them safe but the memory of their voices, of Dean's low laughter and Charlotte's sighs, conjured up visions of Jess reading to him every Sunday morning – lounging in bed over pancakes and orange juice, words tripping over themselves as Sam closed his eyes and planned his future to the sing-song repetition of her voice.

_Shall I tell you what the real evil is? To cringe to the things that are called evils, to surrender to them our freedom, in defiance of which we ought to face any suffering. _

Sam took a breath, seeing Dean's eyes widen as it came out ragged and sharp. "We need to get one thing straight," he said, cocking his head at his older brother. "That little pony of yours might have the stamina of a horse, Dean, but the minute there's humping when I'm trying to sleep, I'm pulling out the rocket launcher."

Dean's face split into a grin. "That depends entirely on Charlie." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "She thinks I'm irresistible, you know. Adorable, even." He chuckled when she snorted. "Damn girl can't get enough of me."

"Damn girl might like more than an hour of sleep every night," Charlotte retorted, cheeks turning red as she lowered her head and scooted away from Sam. "So you keep that rocket launcher handy, Sam." She looked like she was going to say more but Charlotte stiffened when she heard a deep laugh behind her. _Dad._ "I'll go check up on Ellie," she added softly, starting to slide out of the seat.

"Don't leave on my account," Dad said slowly, sitting down next to Dean. His older brother's jaw tightened and hazel eyes flashed at Charlotte, a look passing between them, and her shoulders stiffened. _Don't you dare run from him, Charlie._ Charlotte's hands slid to her sides, closed into fists. Sam's left hand dropped down to settle on her right one and she wrapped it around his.

Sam couldn't help but think she wished that he was Dean, the way she held on, but then she squeezed. _And that is why a dorky girl like me is lucky enough to have someone like you care about her._ He squeezed back and Dean was watching them both with something close to approval before turning a cold glare towards their father. Dad didn't even flinch. "Waited up for you last night," his father said, shooting the same grin at Dean that Sam was used to seeing every time his older brother was being a smart-ass.

"Had some things to take care of," Dean returned slowly.

"So I gathered." Dad shifted in his set, placing both elbows on the table and leaning forward on his hands. The man from last night was gone, replaced by the calm soldier Sam remembered – a general who was putting all the pieces on the board and figuring out how best to use him. "Some folks will be here after lunch. We'll make our plans then."

"Some things we need to say aren't part of a plan," Sam returned.

"We're only going through all of this _once_." And there was no arguing with Dad when he sounded like that. Sam's mouth snapped shut.

"We already have a plan." Dean was staring at the wall. "We take Ellie and we leave. Figure out where to find the rest of the Twelve and get them before the Circle does. Seems pretty simple to me."

"Dean – " Dad stopped the moment Dean's eyes met his and both their mouths tightened. His father swallowed, glanced across the table at Sam like he was calling for backup, as if one night of whiskey and old songs from the war Sam wasn't born to fight would make Sam choose sides. But damn if one look from Dean didn't make Dad open up when a whole bottle of whiskey kept him locked up with Sam. "Some things were necessary," their father added.

"I get that, Dad." Dean's right hand was balled into a fist on the table, his knuckles white.

"You understand, don't you, girl?" Dad's gaze settled on Charlotte, his face closing as she bit her lip and did her best not to look away. "Better than my sons." When Charlotte didn't say anything, John Winchester continued blithely like she had agreed with him. "You've lived in the belly of the beast. No one who lives close to that power can be trusted. It's why your father decided to break the Circle in the first place and scatter you kids to the winds."

"To save the children." Charlotte's teeth worked on her lip. "But the Circle found them anyway." Her brow furrowed.

"So what makes you think the Circle doesn't already know where the rest of them are right now," Dad replied. He sounded angry but he looked thoughtful. It was a dare; Sam had seen it before. _Show me the answer, son._ Unless something had changed, his father already knew what it was.

"They probably do but…" She looked at Dean suddenly. "That makes no sense. Didn't…my father…tell Sam that he had to find the others _first_. That he needed to get to them before the Circle did?" Sam's eyes widened when Charlotte swallowed but he wasn't surprised – Dean had probably told her the whole damn thing, how Aaron Webb visited Sam in dreams and taught him what he needed to know to Awaken.

"That's what he said," Dean answered softly.

"So what does that mean exactly?" Charlotte had stopped biting her lip and both of her hands were suddenly flat on the table as she leaned forward. "It implies that the Circle doesn't know where to find them anymore than we do."

"Could have just been a turn of phrase." Dean was looking at her thoughtfully.

"No way." She shook her head sharply. "My father wouldn't have said something like that unless he deliberately meant it."

Sam snorted. "This is the same man whose making me read _Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah_ as part of my training, Charlotte. I think he'd go into shock if he wasn't being cryptic."

Dean stiffened but Charlotte flashed a rueful smile. "You just don't know how to read him, Sam," she said. And then her eyes softened. Charlotte reached across the table for Dean's hand with her left, holding onto Sam's with her right, and it was like they were the only ones in the Roadhouse. Even the jukebox faded to nothing. "I know you boys don't want to hurt me but I understand the proscriptions under which the Guardians operate," she added. "You have to tell me what he says the next time."

Dad's breath brought Sam back when Charlotte let go of their hands. "So if the Circle doesn't know where the other children are, how did they track them down in the first place?" Dean asked with a frown.

Sam's stomach churned. The answer was obvious. "The Circle didn't track the children. They tracked the _parents_." Dad's breath was jagged in his chest, a heaviness laying about his shaking hands on the table – just inches from Charlotte's. _Circle doesn't have them all. We made sure of that – hid them well, sealed their gifts until the time was right for them to Awaken._ "Oh, God," Sam managed. "The children's gifts were sealed so the Circle couldn't find them."

"Which means our parents all made themselves targets," Charlotte returned softly. "Hoping the prophecy would kick in and the children would be lost in the fallout. They had to have known. Jacob's translation is only partial but…it mentions going into the fire." Her eyes were glistening as she looked at their father. "My mother always said she got me because I belonged to her. But if both parents died or the one without a gift fled…"

"The kids would be as good as gone," Dean finished. "But is a prophecy powerful enough to keep something like the Circle of Enoch off the scent?" He almost grinned at Charlotte. "This is where you'd tell me that I need to have a little faith, huh?"

Charlotte shrugged. "You're Chosen, Dean."

"You make that sound like it's the answer when it's the question, Charlie." Dean scratched underneath his ear, looking at Sam. Dad was watching them all with hooded eyes, hands shaking so hard that Charlotte surprised them all by putting her hands on top of them with a small sigh. Sam tried to ignore the flicker of blue along her knuckles.

"I think the Awakening is the key," Sam said. "Aaron said their gifts were sealed until the time was right for them to Awaken." Charlotte was shaking a little in her shoulders, but Sam didn't know if that was because of his father or the fact that he used Aaron's name.

"That's just coming into our Gifts, right?" Dean asked. Both of them looked at Charlotte.

"No. It's deeper than that. The Twelve are vessels for the Grigori. They're too powerful to be borne by most human flesh but we're supposed to have been bred for them, capable of withstanding their power. My daddy used to tell me that if I Awakened, Armaros would _lose_ its vessel. Remember Armaros' curse?" Charlotte asked.

"We live with it every goddamn day," Dean returned. Sam's foot shot out towards Dean's shin. "Hey, watch it!" his older brother yelped as it connected. "Not that it isn't cute and all." Even Dad was smiling at the look that crossed Charlotte's face, a quick shake of resignation when her eyes met Dean's. "Where are you going with this, Girl Genius?"

"Sam's right. The Circle never taught us about the Awakening – I learned that from my father before he died. It was the one lesson he always told me that I had to remember." Charlotte held his father's hands in her own, arms shaking more forcefully. "It gets better, too. My mother always said that my body had to stay _intact_ but the scars never mattered. Armaros would Rise when Shemhezai Ascended and my body would be made whole in the Rising. It would happen earlier if I died; Armaros could Rise if my soul no longer inhabited the body."

"So the Circle doesn't lose anything if those kids just live normal lives. If Shemhezai Ascends, they'll become a vessel for one of the Grigori," Sam added. "And the same thing goes if they just die before the end." He and Charlotte nodded at each other. "But if we go after them ourselves? And they Awaken?"

"We make them targets." Dean frowned. "What's so important about Awakening anyway?"

"Apart from rendering you immune to the Rising?" Charlotte returned with an arch glance over her glasses that made Dean smile. "There are specific passages within the text of the prophecy that relate to the _Awakening of Divine Blood_ – it's called the _Blessing_. I always thought was misleading because _Beata_ means _blessed_ and that applies to any one of the descendants, not just the ones who are supposed to be the Twelve – " She jumped when Dean coughed.

Charlotte's cheeks flushed and she continued. "The description of the Blessing is obscure. It states that the children can use their Gifts together to affect different outcomes, to share the power of disparate Gifts." Charlotte's jaw actually dropped and she looked over at Ellie. "That night with the _Cordi Peredo_. Dean and I barely held on until…" Her voice was barely a murmur. "The Perfection of God."

"Holy shit," Sam's throat closed, hearing Ellie laugh with Ash and ask for a green crayon. "Wouldn't being Awakened make you a bigger target?"

"Especially if you're six." Dean's face was white. "We are so screwed."

Sam had almost forgotten that their father was sitting there, watching the entire exchange, until he coughed. Three pairs of eyes focused on his face and John Winchester was smiling, looking like he had in all of the pictures Sam remembered from before the fire. "Now you three are beginning to see the bigger picture," he said gruffly. Sam thought he might have said more, but Dad slowly pulled his hands out from underneath Charlotte's and he stood up quickly.

John Winchester walked away, not even turning to look back at them, while all three of them stared at his retreating back. But Sam thought he still saw a smile on his father's face as his body turned. When Sam blinked, it was too late to tell.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After John Winchester walked away from the table, Dean and Sam converged on Ellie – pulling out more pages from her coloring books and sharing crayons, all but pushing Ash away from the table. Charlotte knew they were reassuring themselves, trying to convince themselves that Ellie Jenkins was just a little girl even though they all knew she wasn't. _We can't fix him without his eye._ That little girl knew exactly what she was doing and being Awakened answered every single one of Charlotte's questions.

Charlotte had wasted enough time, worrying about where she grew up and not wanting to cause a rift between Dean and Sam and their father. It was hard not to feel sorry for the man, even after what he had done to her. John Winchester's loss, for his sons and the wife he knew was doomed the moment she left the Circle of Enoch, was a barrier he couldn't cross – two decades of responses to the sin that caused darkness in them all. She could sense that same loss in the others John Winchester had gathered; parents or siblings or friends who had all lost something to the shadows. Even Ellie, the most innocent of them all, was curled over her mother and covered in blood when the police first found her. Every single one of them ending up in _Harvelle's Roadhouse_.

They all had roles to play – even a clumsy girl from Connecticut.

She ran into Jo Harvelle the moment she stepped off the stairs, two book bags slung over her shoulders and a laptop bag in one hand. There was a shriek as their bodies collided and the laptop went flying out of her hand; Charlotte grabbed onto the strap and braced it against her wrist, wincing a little as it twisted. "I'm sorry," Charlotte began, feeling the flush in her cheeks, but Jo just laughed.

"I heard you coming down the stairs," the blond girl said. "I just didn't get out of the way fast enough." Jo grinned at her. "You move pretty fast for someone with her leg in a cast." She grabbed the strap of the laptop case and tugged. Charlotte flipped her wrist and it slipped into Jo's hand. "And you're not one for letting someone help, are you?"

"Thank you." It was all Charlotte could say as she followed the blonde girl out of the hallway. Jo reminded her of Meg, of bright blonde girls whose smiles could light up a room, but Meg had been sharp since her thirteenth birthday – since the first time she gave herself to Azazeal. _You're weak, Charlotte. You'll never be strong enough for this._ A girl who might have been her friend lost by a demon's touch inside. Jo Harvelle was still soft in all the ways that were important, hardened by a life devoted to John Winchester's cause but not _hard_.

"You're welcome," Jo returned slowly. There was disappointment there and more guilt from the night before, the sting of a rebuff and the knowledge that it was earned. She followed Charlotte to where Dean was sitting, the contents of his gun bag strewn across the table. Jo frowned. "I'm sorry about last night," the blonde girl said.

Dean's eyebrows shot up when he heard the words but he just looked at Charlotte. "I know," Charlotte returned, setting her book bags onto the opposite seat of the booth and pushing them towards the wall. Jo was still waiting with the laptop case. "It's okay," Charlotte added. "I know you didn't want to do it. But you're not disloyal. I don't agree with some of John Winchester's methods, either, but I believe in what he's trying to do." Jo's face froze and Charlotte knew she had said too much; she always said too much. No one liked talking to a girl with a direct connection to their secrets and no one liked having their secrets laid bare by a stranger.

But Jo Harvelle surprised her, handing Charlotte the laptop case with another smile. "It's good not being the only girl under twenty-five in the club," Jo said, giving a nod and sauntering over to where her mother was talking with Sam.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean spun the barrel on the gun he was peering through and closed it with a snap.

"I think she wants to be friends." Charlotte set the laptop on the same seat with the book bags. One of the men from the night before, a face in the crowd Charlotte remembered in the jumble, said something low to Jo as she walked towards the bar. Jo laughed brightly, flicking the towel at her waist at his arm before continuing on her way. The blonde girl was grace itself. Nothing clumsy about her.

"Didn't I already warn you about thinking too hard?" Dean asked. He picked up another gun as Charlotte hitched herself up into the seat next to him. She knew she should be pulling out her computer – the prophecy wasn't going to translate itself – but Charlotte scooted close enough for her arm to brush against his.

_The other, blowing through her._

Dean had a role to play, too. But it wasn't protecting Sam. _He can stop this._ It was her father's voice, watching Dean fall into Sam's shattered body; white light all around them as Shemhezai ascended. Dean was always falling in her dreams, the line between them snapping because he wasn't ready and she wasn't strong enough to hold him. Sam told her once that there was no line Dean wouldn't cross to save someone he loved but it wasn't entirely true – there was no line Dean wouldn't cross to _save_ Sam.

"Dean?" Charlotte's voice cracked just enough for him to notice it, his shoulders tightening. "We need to talk," she added. The gun didn't fall out of his hand but it bounced on the table.

"Here?" And panic shot through her chest when Dean asked the question.

She took a deep breath. "I…"

"Look." Dean pushed gun parts out of the way, body twisting to look at her. "If you've got something to say to me, just fucking say it." There was a beautiful dark-haired black girl dancing on the back of Charlotte's eyelids, with shoulder-length curly hair and a book in her hand that the girl used to gesture wildly at someone. The girl was angry, bristling with disbelief, and Dean's face was reflected in her eyes. Charlotte lurched forward, her head almost bouncing on Dean's chest.

_Knew a girl once. Wanted to be a part of her life so much I even told her the truth about me. And she thought I was crazy._

Whoever that girl was, she had left cuts on Dean that scarred. And they were old wounds; his reflection was younger than Sam but his eyes looked just like they had the night Charlotte found him on the back of the Impala. Charlotte grabbed Dean's shirt by the collar and pulled his mouth down onto hers, fierce and ravenous and hoping he would believe that she was staying no matter where the highway took them. Her cheeks burned and his hands braced her hips when Charlotte sighed. "You're rubbing off on me, Dean Winchester," she whispered.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Charlie." His breath was hot on her skin, a murmur in her hair. "Got an hour before lunch."

"And _that's_ why we're having this conversation in public." Charlotte's fingers curled around the fabric of the collar. She wasn't letting him go until she was finished. "I've been having dreams about you."

"Really?" Dean sounded like he was smiling and his hands were in her hair, a distraction. "Was I naked?"

"No!"

"So where does that fall on your list? My being naked?"

"Dean!" Charlotte frowned but shivered when his muted chuckle made the hair on her neck bristle. "Please?" she asked. "This is hard enough for me to say. It's important." She pulled back, her fingers so tight on his shirt that they were almost numb. "Remember when we were driving to Georgia?"

"Yeah. We thought you were having a seizure."

"It was about you." Charlotte sucked in a breath, keeping Dean close when his body jerked. Words never worked they way that they should with Winchesters but words were all that she had. There was no way to sugarcoat it; Dean needed to know. "Every vision I've had since Sam pushed me into the back of the car has been about you," she added.

"_Sam won't fall. Sam will rise_," Dean replied, his voice hollow within his chest. "_But Dean will fall. I saw it._" Charlotte could hear her own voice imposed on top of his, fighting with the ringing in her head, and the look Dean gave her was enough to make her let go of his collar. "I've already figured out I'm not making it to the end, Charlie. There was always Sam. Always Dad." He looked away from her towards the other side of the booth. "And now there's you and Ellie."

"Don't you _ever_ say _that_ again!" Charlotte could feel the stares on her back. She should have been used to being the center of attention in a room full of strangers but that didn't keep her voice from becoming a shrill echo. Dean recoiled, not even able to look in her eyes. "I'm not letting that happen!" And Charlotte knew she was loud enough to pull every eye in the bar, hoping a room full of witnesses would make Dean listen to her. "Do you understand?" Charlotte demanded.

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked, sounding so tired it was all she could do to breathe. "Limp down into Hell after me?"

"_We're_ going to do better than that, Dean Winchester!" Charlotte's voice was a hiss. Her hands were back on his collar and Charlotte lifted herself up. Dean pulled her towards him, a jagged edge in his chest that blossomed into a bruise when their mouths collided. "There's not a lot I can teach you about _being_ Beata," she added when Dean broke for air, his hands a tangle at the back of her neck. "You've been putting yourself between the innocent and the darkness since you were four." She smiled gently, her own hands going around his neck. "And you're better at it than I am."

"Charlie…" Dean was all embarrassment and disbelief, the rush of fire blowing through both of them when Dean closed his eyes. _A boy, and a fire and the baby in his arms._ They always came back to the place where a little boy ran through the crackle and the spit of the fire with the most precious thing in the world. It was the cipher that could crack the code.

"But you've never had anyone teach you about your Gift." Charlotte tightened her arms. "It's strong. I think that's why I keep getting Called for you." She didn't blame him for the way he almost pulled away, between the shock of his mother's death and his father's constant guilt locked inside where the little boy waited. Charlotte knew what the Gift could do, the irony of something so passive twisting inside until it left a constant ache. "I've seen you do things instinctively that took me years to learn how to manage," she added. "Imagine what you can do if someone teaches you. You'll be ready for the end."

"So that's how you're going to keep me from falling?"

"Yes." Charlotte buried her face where his neck met his shoulder. "But I'm ready to limp down into Hell right after you." Charlotte could see him there, doing whatever it took to kill everything thrown his way if it meant that Sam would get out alive. Dean Winchester was Called and he was Chosen; he would die fighting. He would fight in Death; his was a Guardian's soul. "A fire didn't stop either of us the first time, Dean."

He pulled her closer, his arms tight across her back. It was hard to breathe, an iron band around both of them. "That's your plan?" Dean finally managed. "To go in after me?" And he actually laughed, his shoulders loosening with the sound.

"I'll be bringing my book bag," she said. "It's our best bet if I have to go toe-to-toe with something." That only made him laugh harder, the pain underneath diminishing when he started pushing her backwards out of the booth. Charlotte almost fell before her cast touched down on the ground, Dean's hands on her arms holding her steady while she regained her balance.

"Your plan sucks," Dean said when he was standing next to her. "Mine is a lot better," he added, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the hall that led to the upstairs stairway. "Sammy, put the guns away," Dean added, yelling at his little brother over his shoulder.

"Your plan is having sex, isn't it?" Charlotte asked as he dragged her up the stairs.

Dean grinned at her before flinging the door to the room open. "That's why my plan doesn't _suck_," he said, kicking the door closed behind him. "A girl could take lessons," he added, pushing her backwards onto the bed. His mouth marked hers as they crashed into the mattress, tiny aches blossoming across her back. Dean's hands were already reaching under her dress and the contact of his ring against her left thigh was cold against the burn of his hand. And his eyes – when her fingers began undoing the button fly on his jeans, they flared.

"But it _could_," she returned, hand dipping into his boxer shorts. Fingers worked around his cock before Dean could stop her and he bucked against her hand.

"Jesus, Charlie..." Dean's voice was low, filled with a wish thrumming through her; the words ripped out hard and unfinished but his mouth slammed down onto hers and she heard cotton tear in his hands. He was scalding, shuddering when her hands hooked jeans and boxers and pulled – a scrape of fabric against skin as they came down. There was a cold shock of air when his fingers opened her, a shiver down her spine when Dean pushed inside and filled her – his body moving against hers as they gasped.

She met each thrust with a lift of her hips, a different memory flitting across his face when he rocked back against her – the way he looked when he was asleep, his eyes when he was watching her, his grin when he was glancing at her sideways and poking her on the arm. Dean groaned into her neck, head coming forward as he moved hard between her thighs, and he was the only thing she knew between memory and desire. "Love you, Dean." It hummed through her skin, a wave swirling around them.

Charlotte brought her hands to his hips to hold on as tight as she could, fingers digging into the flesh to keep him steady. Dean began slowing down when she clamped around him, hips arching into his. Her body was working on its own, sounds coming out of her that she didn't even recognize, wanting nothing more than him – needing to meet him halfway because then they would never be lost. She was curling into him, a slow swing as crickets sang around them. He leaned down to capture her moan with his lips, hands braced on her shoulders as she writhed underneath him. "_Charlotte_," he whispered, a hot surge inside of her.

She was on fire all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is a song by Bruce Springsteen.
> 
> Born in a crossfire hurricane? That can only be one song. "_Jumping Jack Flash_," of course!
> 
> The Big Mac and the banana were both an homage to the lovely wenchpixie, specifically "Fat, Salt and Sugar are Better than a Ten Mile Run." She and I definitely agree on certain things in our personal fanon and one of them just happens to be the best cure for a hangover.
> 
> Sam's quote in his second POV is by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, a Roman philosopher and playwright. Charlie paraphrases a Victor Hugo quote as well: "The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness." It just seemed to me that both would be well-read, all things considered.
> 
> And that Enochian lore just keeps right on coming…

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a song by The Rolling Stones.


End file.
